The Color of Blood
by Wintermoth
Summary: My life didn't end in the Games. Sometimes I wish it had. Sometimes I'm glad it didn't. Sometimes I look and I see their blood on my hands. Sometimes I see him smiling at me and I feel like everything I've done doesn't even matter. I am a murderer. I am a savior. I am Panem's 69th victor. I am just me.
1. Morning

**Hello! So, if any of you have watched what I upload, you've seen that this is not my first Hunger Games story, but this is my first big one.**

**I do not own the Hunger Games. I do, however, own the arena idea and all the characters not directly mentioned in the Hunger Game series. **

**Also, I apologize in advance if my story seems similar to any other HG fics in some way. It's unintentional. However, if you see any newer stories mirroring things in this story, or from things directly in this story, let me know.  
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**Warning: It's the Hunger Games. That means blood, death, violence, angst, prep teams, and craziness.  
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****Revised July 2012**  
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There's a tree in our front yard. About ten yards up there's a spot where two branches just out, close enough at their bases for me to sit on. This has always been my spot.

"Dylan!"

I come up here whenever I want to be alone. To think. It's peaceful. Things seem simpler up here, away from the thick of things below. Usually I don't even look down, focusing on the ocean visible through the leaves, pretending I'm somewhere remote. Free.

"You have to get your salary today!"

I scowl. _I know, you've only mentioned it…five times in the last hour._

But she's just anxious. She's always anxious on Reaping day. Even though most of the tributes are what those from some other districts referred to as Careers—ok, we call ourselves it, too, it has a nice ring to it—there were still times when someone was called and the designated volunteer doesn't step up to take their place for whatever reason. I think she's afraid that one of us will get called and no one will replace us. Today is the last time I will be entered into the reaping. My older brother, Luke, became safe the moment the male tribute was called last year.

However, this is the first year both of my younger siblings will be entered into the reaping. Lana just turned twelve and is the most peaceful child around. It's kind of freaky, as she's training so hard to be in the Hunger Games. Evan is thirteen now. He's as fiery as me, but has a rather caring disposition. Neither of them though is fit for the hardships of the Hunger Games. I am.

Looking at me, it's easy to tel. I am very skinny, not very big upstairs, but I've got muscles to show for years of work. I'm quick and nimble like a good range fighter. I've got more scars than I care to count and a hard look in my eyes almost all the time. Or so they tell me. Years of training hard can do that to a body.

I sigh, shaking my head. Why am I thinking like this? None of us will be going. The tributes today were decided two years ago.

"Dylan, if you don't get down here right now," She begins angrily, and I know it's time I get moving.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." I tell her and jump down.

"What were you doing up there?" She asks when I land.

"Thinking," I tell her. "What else?"

She sighs. "Just hurry up, please. I'll feel better when this is all over."

_Oh yeah? When this is all over, my life's work will be gone forever. _But I don't say that. She hates the fact I've been dreaming to compete in the Hunger Games since I was small.

I smile with just the right amount of sympathy in my voice, "I know, Mom. I'll be back soon." I give her a quick kiss on the cheek then race out of our yard and down the road before she can return any affection. Then I scowl down at the street.

As far as districts go, ours is one of the better ones. We are one of the largest districts. I think only District 11 is larger than us. _Maybe_ District 2. Maybe. But it's a toss up. There are ten small fishing towns throughout the district, the main city, the Victor's Village where the Hunger Games victors live, and a town away from the water where the training grounds are. The hospital is there, though each town has their own clinic. I live in the main city where the Justice Building resides and the well-to-do folk live.

Starvation is very uncommon in this district. There are some poor areas, like Gull Cove and Dune, it's inevitable, and they sometimes go to bed hungry. We're kind of favored by the Capitol—not as much as they are in 2—but enough that it's not too bad everywhere, like here in Crest. In the event folks are short on money, there's no shortage of places to catch dinner. As long as you don't get caught breaking the law then you're good to go. If you get caught, well, at least the Mayor doesn't encourage whippings. It's hard to work around salt water when you've got open wounds. My father, brother, and I hold steady jobs so our family usually goes to bed with full stomachs.

In Crest at least, the only those who've trained for the Hunger Games really know what real hunger is. The trainers would purposefully deny us water or food for certain amounts of time because, in the arena, many tributes die from lack of water and food. They conditioned us, trained us…

I don't like to think about my training that often. It brings back too many memories I'm supposed to be forgetting. But I just _can't_ bury them completely.

In District 4, every boy and girl, at the age of ten, is required to submit themselves for training to be part of the Hunger Games. I've heard that it's stricter in the other two districts that train their tributes, but I'm not sure. It's one of those little fickle things I've always wanted to know.

There are two separate groups. Those that are between ten and fourteen are in one and those who are fourteen to eighteen are in the other. Before the Preliminary, you are permitted to live at home as long as you commute to the training complex daily. Afterwards, if you're still in, you must live there.

We call the program the Trials. All the previous victors and star students who never went to the Games are instructors. They teach each child skills they'll need in the arena. Unless, of course, you are simply horrible, in which case they send you packing with orders to never come back. More than a few kids do horribly on purpose for that very reason. Luke did, I didn't.

At first, many of the instructors thought I would be one of the first to leave. I proved them wrong. I wasn't as strong or big as the others but I was faster and more agile. I could weave through the most complex contraptions and still hit the target or escape from my pursuer. I had good aim, too. So when I trained I always had a set of knives on my belt and a quiver of arrows and the bow on my back. Hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting were difficult for me thanks to my size. There was only one exception: a trident. I'd been using them and playing with them since I could walk and I was taught to fish out of a pond.

All the training leads to our first real obstacle that I mentioned earlier: the Preliminary.

The Preliminary is the first hurdle one must pass to even get a shot a competing in the Hunger Games. Occurring every one hundred and eighty days, it's a competition amon trainees to earn a spot in the higher training courses. You can enter up three times—twice when you're twelve, once when you're thirteen. You only have two shots in the Finals. They're more lax in the Preliminary simply because, when you're that young, you could still do with more training.

In the Preliminary, the contestants are allowed to surrender if they know they cannot win the fight—that's mostly to ensure people don't refuse to train—however, if they don't surrender and end up dying then, well, it was their fault. If a contestant fails the Preliminary two times they're cast out from the training program and they go on to enter the industry or family business. Where would we be if half the future industry workers are killed off? The Preliminary is when a lot of people have to decide what they're going to do: try and continue or leave and go on with their lives.

Everyone who enters into the Preliminary is put into a circular room designed especially for battle. Anyone in the district could come to watch us, though usually only trainers or friends and family come. The contestants start on metal cylinders an equal distance from a wooden imitation of the Cornucopia that's in the real Hunger Games. That's where all the weapons we will have access to are located just like in the Games, and contestants have to wait on their cylinders for sixty seconds until someone fires a shotgun. Then they get to run forward and grab a weapon and duke it out. The last three girls standing are the winners of the girl's division and same for the boys. If it's your third time and you're not one of those six then you're out. Out of the Preliminary and out of the Trials.

I went in twice. The first time I was careless, overconfident. I didn't last long. The second time, I was thirteen, and I did much, much better. Instead of just fighting with the others I climbed on top of the cornucopia and shot my arrows and knives from there. I ended up dealing some serious blows to the others below me.

During the next three years my training was stepped up to almost brutal levels. From after the mandatory dawn runs 'till dinner at night they had those of us in training for the Finals in the gym practicing, except for the small food breaks, which sometimes never came. Whenever we were injured we were sent to the infirmary, patched up, and allowed an hour or more to rest, depending on the injury, then we were right back to training.

"You'll probably have many sponsors in the arena." Beril, one of the younger victors, told me and the others I trained with after Annie Cresta complained about not getting enough time to recover. "They'll be able to pay for medical supplies if you're seriously hurt. That's why we even let you rest at all. But you might not get help from your sponsors. You have to learn to tough it up!"

"But what if we're seriously hurt because we can't rest longer?" Annie had argued.

"Then you're not going to the Hunger Games." And that was that.

During those few years between the Primary and the Finals, when I turned fifteen, is when I really hit puberty. I shot up from a measly 4'9 to 5'10 within months. I was always expected to be tall, I'd been such a gangly child, and even now I'm long-limbed and skinny, but thanks to my muscles, I'm not so stringy.

I was perfectly lethal by the time I was sixteen and I had one hell of an ego. I could not only hit a small moving target, but I got a bulls-eye every time with both knives and arrows, and an awl during my brief stint with them. The mentors focused a lot on ranged combat with me, but there was no shortage of work on my strength training and large weapons. I struggled at first, but by the time the Finals came around, I could work with an axe, mace, and sword. I still preferred my ranged style, though, and the only two big weapons I felt comfortable with were a spear and trident. The heavy ones hindered me when I ran and when it comes right down to it, swift feet could save you more readily than a sword in the Games.

Willow Brooklyn, Sunny Lightwood, Lucille Wilde, Hilla Tawn, and Annie Cresta were the girls I primarily trained with. Annie, Lucille, and I were twelve, the others were thirteen. We all won our Preliminaries that year and we would enter the Finals together. It was cruel that I would have to fight, and possibly kill, the girls I'd learned with, stayed up late to talk and giggle with, celebrated birthdays and reapings with, but it was to emotionally and mentally prepare us in case we formed friendships in the arena. They would have to be forgotten eventually.

As far the rules go, the Finals are exactly like the Preliminary. Only sixteen and seventeen year-olds can compete, there aren't enough weapons provided for everyone to be properly armed, only one boy and one girl can win, and it's annual instead of semi-annual. If you lose and you're young enough, you can try once more at the following one. It's one of the benefits given to those of us who win when we're twelve.

There were nine total in my round of the Finals: my group and the younger three from the group ahead of us.

While I stood on my cylinder I looked up at the crowd for a moment, searching for my friends and family. I was severely disappointed to see that Luke and my parents hadn't come, however Lana and Evan were there, as were my old childhood friends. I knew my mother and father didn't really approve of how hard I was working to be in the Hunger Games, and Luke wished that I would just get out of it and actually be a teenager, but it saddened me that they could've come to show their support.

When the gun went off, I shot forward mirroring the bullet that had flown from the barrel. My long legs propelled me forward and I scooped up three knives before Lucille, could get them. I managed to get atop the cornucopia again, away from the fray, while the others battled it out below. Within several minutes, it was down to four of us. Sunny, Annie, and two of the girls I didn't know had crawled away from the fighting and collapsed, waiting for a mentor to come collect them and take them to the infirmary. Except for Lucille, who was collapsed a perilous few feet from the fighting, unable to move, her brown hair sticky with blood.

By then I figured it was time to get in on the fight. I slid down and made a beeline for the three fighting girls. The blonde girl turned at the last moment, saw me coming at her, and jumped away to avoid me. Hilla was then in my path. I remember the look on her face as if it were yesterday; ruthless, cold, and almost feral, no sign of the years of memories between us. She was armed with a decent-sized spear that could easily skewer me. I half-expected her throw it—it's what she liked to do with spears—but she didn't. Instead she held it in front of her, to keep me away, to block anything I might throw, and to take a jab at me if I did throw.

I kept a few feet away from the spear head, feinting to the sides, trying to find an opening. After a few moments of that, and a yelp of pain from one of the injured girls nearby, I finally just let the knife fly. It hit her in the shoulder and I saw her grip loosen on the spear as she cried out in pain. While she was reaching up to remove my weapon from her flesh, I shot forward, grabbing her spear and snapping it. I had the end with the blade and she had my knife and a bleeding shoulder.

Her face was still twisted with rage but the pain in her eyes was clear. I decided to just risk it. I flew at her. She held the knife up parallel to her chest, ready to block my blows, but I didn't use my weapons. I dropped the spearhead, twisted to the side, grabbing her arm, and bit down. I felt my teeth sink through her flesh and muscles and tasted blood. The knife slipped through her fingers but she used the stuck to beat my back with as she screeched in pain. I let her go and kicked her in the stomach. She went down, gasping for air, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. I picked up the fallen knife and shoved it through her arm, pinning her to the ground.

I didn't hear the other girl coming over Hilla's screams, but I felt it when her weapon pierced my abdomen. I'd never been in more agony in my life than I had been in that moment. I stumbled away, momentarily blinded by pain. I tripped as I yanked the awl from my stomach and fell down. I raised the weapon to defend myself as I scrambled up, but the girl was much bigger boned and she got me down. I struggled, snapping at her with my teeth—hey, if Enobaria from District 2 won her Games with her teeth then why couldn't I?—but I couldn't get them into one her limbs.

"Give up?" she hissed. I refused, struggling more. I felt something pierce my leg but I still refused to surrender. Then something collided with my head and I blacked out.

When I woke up I was in the infirmary with the nurse bending over me. When my family had gathered around I was gently told the news. The girl, Luke called her Nita, had severed some major arteries in my leg, as well as several muscles and nerves. I wouldn't be able to walk properly for a long time. And, what mom said was 'the worst of all'; the awl that had been shoved into my abdomen had pierced my uterus and an ovary. The doctors had managed to save the uterus so I would still get the correct hormones, but I was never going to have children. I took some time to process that. It wasn't as if a family had been top on my list of priorities. I had…considered it a few times…but I'd always put training first. However, now that the choice was snatched away, I felt robbed. Then I realized that Nita had probably won. She was probably going on to be a tribute. But when I asked, they told me Willow had won and Nita, having already used up both chances, was out. That seemed like justice, but she still owed me big time.

I felt that I was mentally ready to get back to training, but the doctors wouldn't let me. I had to take time to heal. So, once again, it was me, Sunny, Lucille, Hilla, and Annie together. This time we were working to overcome the injuries we'd sustained. Sunny, Hilla, and I were hurt the worst. While Annie and Lucille went back to train just a few days later so they could try again the next time around, we were stuck in the infirmary to recover. Sunny was learning to cope with only one ear and only three fingers on her left hand—the brown-haired girl she'd fought apparently had a thing for butchering her opponents. Hilla was in a lot of pain because of me—I apologized profusely, but she'd always just wave it off, already having forgiven me. I was trying to get my leg to cooperate again so I could walk, then I had to get it well enough so I could run. My arm was much easier and was better in no time. It was just that damn leg…

Out of all of us, only Lu and Annie got to go back for the next round. Sunny and Hilla were too old to get enough training in time and try as I might, I wasn't ready to compete during the next Finals. My leg wasn't cooperative enough in time to train for them. That was it. It was over. Six years of my life, my ability to have children…gone, all gone, for nothing. Annie won that following round and she and Willow got more training. They were set to be tributes in consecutive years, which worked our perfectly due to their ages. And it was Willow's turn this year.

After I'd recovered enough I was sent home. And, of course, by then, I was able to walk like always, with only occasional pains. My parents and siblings were thrilled to have me living with them again, but they weren't sure what to do with me.

Luke and my father's jobs and the little tasks Evan and Lana got paid for brought in enough money to sustain our family of six so I really didn't have to do anything. And it was recommended that any former trainee was given up to six months to readjust to normal life before reentering the industry or otherwise because life out here was so much different than the one within the compound.

My mother gave Evan and Lana the job of "fixing" me. They were supposed to revert the hard, fierce young woman I'd become into the kind but feisty girl that they remembered. I tried, I really did, and in some ways, I succeeded, but my heart never left that gym where I trained until my sweat was sweating. I ran every morning like they made us do at the center and I swam a lot. I swiped a switchblade from a store and kept it with me almost all the time in my pocket.

Mother disapproved, of course, and she went ballistic when she caught me giving Evan a knife-throwing lesson. I'd tried to reason with her, he was already in the Trials, after all. But she wouldn't have it and our little lessons ended. Good thing she didn't ask me where I got the blade from.

I finally understood why we were given time to readjust. I just couldn't believe how _soft _everyone around me was. Even my old friends, Ryin, Spence, Heather, and Catia were somewhat distant from me.

After the six months was up, I tried to go back to the job I'd left when I turned ten. The manager had been a nice older woman and I liked her and her husband. I was like a granddaughter to them. But apparently they'd died two years beforehand and since I was in the Trials I hadn't been informed. Their eldest son and his wife were in charge and the moment I shook their hands I knew I was wasting my time.

They didn't even seem to care that I'd devoted three years of my youth to this place and had been one of the best net makers. The woman kept asking me what weapons I used, how many people I'd killed, did I like violence? . I finally told her, "I can hit the target every time with my arrows and knives. I can skewer anyone with a trident and walk away spotless. I know, I've checked." Maybe I shouldn't have sounded so cold, but I couldn't help it. I figured by then that I wasn't getting my old job back so I decided to enjoy myself. "I can make a noose for any size person. I know sixteen ways to kill someone with my bare hands. I can make a hook out of anything and mutilate a person with it."

Needless to say, I'm not exactly welcome around that dock anymore.

No matter where I went, someone there always recognized me for what I was and I was given the boot. No one wanted someone like me around. Someone who could pull out a knife and let it fly at any moment. Someone trained to identify and exploit weakness. Someone who could frighten you to the core in a single look.

Around that time, Mrs. Hanson, my friend Catia's mother, passed away. Catia, the oldest of four children, became the mother figure of the household and as a result, had to quit her job at the fish trapping company her father owned. Catia knew I was in need of a job so she recommended I take her place on the workforce.

Her father, Brok, was a little wary at first. He was very connected to the Trials program—he's got connections everywhere—but he supplied many of our meals at the center. He knows a lot about trainees and who's doing what and such. But he'd never really considered hiring a former trainee, I guess. Unlike pretty much everyone else, though, when Catia dragged me into his office for an interview, he respected me. After he watched me diving, my nimble fingers working knots, and my quick wrists flinging knives, spears, and tridents into fish, well…he decided to give me a job. Now I work at one of the largest fishing companies in Panem. My job is to dive down and set and retrieve traps, inspect nets with my friend Leathan and I also help out on the boat deck if needed.

I have to pick up my pay now and see what the quotas are this coming week. Reaping or not, there is work to do around here and life goes on after the train leaves. It isn't that far from my home, through a neighborhood, to the docks where Brok's office is. It's like a decent sized shack, really. Oh well. It's not like I spend much time in there anyway.

The moment I walk in, the dark-haired assistant, Asil, latterly springs out of no where. The switchblade, which is mostly for precaution now, is out and ready before I realize who it is.

She shrieks, leaping away as quickly as she'd arrived. She leaned against the desk. "Don't do that!" She gasped, holding her chest.

"You know better," I snap, flipping the blade shut.

She's flustered. "Mr. Hanson needs to see you right away."

"No kidding."

Asil isn't an idiot. She knows when to let things go. "Mr. Hanson needs you in there right away." She says quickly, blinking those murky green eyes of hers. "_Huge_ order from the Capitol. Double the usual quota."

My eyes widen then I storm past her, through the door to the other room in the shack, Brok's office. It's a quaint little room. There are two windows, one facing the sea and one providing a clear view of the boats. There is a fake fish on the wall plus his entire fishhook collection in a glass case. A trident hangs innocently on the wall. In one spot near the window are pictures of his family: his mother and father, sisters and brother, his late wife, and his four children, Catia, Krista, Zach, and Margo.

"I thought that was you." The middle-aged man behind the desk says. "You're the only one who can make her scream."

"You know, there's a couple ways that could be taken…"

Brok sighs, placing his hand on his forehead. "I swear. Those damn sailors corrupted you."

"Hey, you're the one that stuck me with them. Now what's this about a double quota_? _We do have to sleep sometime this week, you know."

Brok Hanson is a lot like his daughter. They both have light green eyes and dark brown hair and tanned, almost bronze skin. They're both compassionate and understanding. Brok is one of the only employers in probably the whole district who will hire children and actually pay them good money for their lighter jobs.

He nods. "I know that, but tell it to the Capitol. There's some big to-do to celebrate the Games this year. It's only six years until the third Quarter Quell, you know. I heard, through various sources, that this years Games will be…exciting. Well, for the audience anyway."

My heart flutters. Exciting for the audience means challenging for tributes. I like a challenge.

"So…um…" I bite my lip. "We have to get three hundred pounds of cod and sardines, four hundred pounds of shrimp and lobster, six hundred pounds of tuna and herring?"

"And six hundred pounds of salmon," He adds brightly.

"Of course." I mutter. "Damned pigs. Looks like we'll be sleeping on the boats."

"Bring your pillow."

I snort.

"So, a bit of small talk before I send you off, I think. Are you excited?"

"Why?"

"It's your last Reaping in the pens. Most kids would be thrilled."

"Oh, yeah. I'm totally thrilled." I say sarcastically, dropping into the chair in front of his desk. I put my elbow on the top, leaning my head in my hand.

"Sorry," he says apologetically.

"It's not your fault." I mutter.

"So, what do you think of this years tributes?"

"Well, who's the boy? Do you know?"

"Pisces…Pisces something…Quil…Kwin…Kwan…"

My head snaps up and my arm falls flat onto the desk. "Pisces Quin?"

"Yes! That's it. …I take it you know him?"

Know him? How could I not? He's an old friend. Former friend, really. We were really close back in the day. But then we became teenagers and he just…well, he wasn't nice anymore. Sometimes, he was downright mean. Honestly, if I had to pick between him and Willow, I'd pick Willow.

"Yeah." I say. "And the girl, Willow, is a friend of mine."

Brok's face changes the moment I say Willow's name. Confusion, disbelief, then understanding. "You don't know. Of course you don't, you don't exactly keep up with these things anymore, do you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Willow cannot volunteer anymore."

Like the first rays of sunlight peaking over the horizon after a cold night, hope flares inside me. What do they do, I wonder, when the intended tribute cannot compete? I have never heard of such a thing occurring, at least not within my lifetime. I keep my face composed. "Why?"

"She was helping a group of eleven-year-olds yesterday—you know how they get to handle bigger weapons at that age—and there was an accident." Brok's eyes search my face. "One of them was being foolish, swinging a mace around like a baseball bat and it slipped. Willow caught it before it before it could hit one of the kids but she got stabbed in the process."

"Is she alright?" I gasp.

"She'll live. But she's in no condition to go into the arena."

"So…who's going to volunteer?" I try to sound uninterested but I don't fool Brok. He smiles just a bit.

"Nita Mayflower has been asked to volunteer. She isn't quite nineteen yet so she is eligible and she won second place that go round. Ah, you know her, too?"

"Of course I do." I say, only barely containing the anger rising up. "I got third place."

Her? Why _her_? Why not me? I've stayed fit, kept my skills sharp. I didn't blow both chances, damn, I lost once. I didn't get to use my second chance and she lost _twice._ She doesn't deserve it after what she took from me.

Brok chuckles, "Ah, yes, I remember that. That was…"

I lean my chin on my fist, arching one eyebrow.

He clears his throat. "Sorry. So, I have to ask, what are you planning?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know you and I know you want to go. Don't even bother denying it. And now here's the perfect opportunity."

I say nothing.

"Uh huh. Thought so. Well, I don't know if you have anything solid, yet, but you know you could always play innocent." He says. "Volunteer and say you heard about Willow but you didn't know about Nita. Hell, if you want, I could ask Catia to find a way to keep Nita from volunteering before you."

"Why?"

"It's your life. You and I both know what could happen. I say, if you want to risk it then it's up to you. Of course, if you were my daughter, I'd put packaging tape over your mouth before you went to the Reaping pens today."

I laugh and he smiles, taking an envelope out of one of the drawers of his desk and a piece of paper, scrawling on it. "Your usual salary and you can take ten pounds today."

"Thanks," I say, standing up.

"Oh, by the way, Dylan," he says as my hand is on the door knob. "If you die, don't worry, I'll give your brother or sister your job. Happy Hunger Games!"

I roll my eyes.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor." He adds as I shut the door.

Just off the pier is a fish market. Most of the stalls here are owned by Brok. The slip he gave me granted me ten pounds of fish from any of the shops. I decide to treat my family. I get three pounds of lobster for Mom and Dad, two pounds of salmon for Lana and Luke, and a pound of perch for Evan, and a pound of tuna for me so it won't look odd. And, as a special treat, three pounds of rainbow trout. A family favorite.

At home, Lana squeals in delight when I tell her I bought salmon for her.

"Sweet Poseidon!" Mother gasps. "You got ten pounds? Did you save someone from dying or something?"

I shrug. "Don't know. Maybe an early birthday present?"

For the first time, I don't dress in the nice outfit that my mother, an excellent seamstress, made for me. It consists of a tunic and a skirt that falls just past my knees. The fabric is light blue, like the shallows where I'd learned to swim, and silky. It goes well with my darker blue eyes. Part of me wants to wear it, but I don't want my first impression to be soft and girly.

I rummage through my closet looking for something—anything—else that I could wear that would make me appear normal to my district, but slightly intimidating to the other eleven. After a minute of searching, I give in and throw off my green shirt and slip the tunic over my head. I pull on tan corduroy shorts and slip on a pair of white sandals. I leave it down, brushing it behind my shoulders. Like this, it falls about to my waist, slightly wavy.

I slip the switchblade into my pocket and leave the room. My sister is just now leaving her room, too, so cute in her light pink dress and pigtails, brings up a ripple of disgust. My face twists for a second. _She_ wants to be one of our tributes? Her big green eyes widen at my expression and she hurries back into her room. I feel a twinge of regret for upsetting her, and it throws me off. I'm about to volunteer for the Hunger Games. This is not the time to let something like upsetting my sister bug me.

Mother is surprised when I'm not in the outfit. She puts her hands on her hips. "Dylan, why aren't you—"

"I don't want to wear it," I snap.

"Watch how you speak to your mother."

If our faces weren't similar, it would be hard to know he was my father. He has brown hair and green eyes, like Luke and Lana. Evan got his eyes from Dad and his dark red hair is a mixture of Dad's dark hair and Mom's auburn hair. I inherited Mom's hair and eyes.

"Sorry." I mumble to her. "I've got the tunic on, though."

Dad puts his hand on my shoulder and steers me through the house, out through the front door. "What?" I grumble when we're outside.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"It's my last reaping," I say.

"Be happy."

"I'm not."

"You'll get over it. Apply to be a trainer in a few months if it means so much to you."

I had considered that. When you turn nineteen, if you showed exceptional skills, you can apply to join the ranks of trainers in the Trials—but you have to be good. It's even better if they ask you to come back. At least my skills wouldn't be wasted them. But I will always envy the ones who get the chance to go to the Capitol, I know it.

"I think I will." I say. Only, I won't be just a trainer. I'll be a victor.

They have never supported my training. They didn't even come to see me fight. I hope they'll at least have the decency to cheer me on in the coming weeks and maybe, just maybe, be proud of me.

* * *

**So, like it so far? I know this was a bit slow, but I have to get this all out of the way. This story will start to pick up soon. :)  
**

**Ok now review, favorite, subscribe...the whole sha-bang.**


	2. Reaping

**So glad you all like the first chapter... but everything's just beginning!**

****Revised September 2012****

* * *

We head towards town at 9:45; fifteen minutes until the reaping. They're spaced throughout the day, starting at about nine in the morning in District 1 and ending with District 12 at noon.

Part of me wants to keep the cold silence my family expects of me, but I decide to enjoy these last few minutes with them since I know when I see them next that there will be tears. I pick Lana up and let her ride on my back. She forgives easily and I'm grateful. She giggles when I reach around and tickle her belly. I tickle again. She giggles. She's so innocent, so childish. I don't understand how she can _want_ something as violent and demanding as the life of a trainee and tribute.

It seems Evan and Lana are determined to make me happy today because, out of the blue, Evan starts to sing one of the children's songs in our district with the accent of the Capitol. It's a song we use to help children learn to count to ten.

_One little fishy fish_

_Two little fishy fish_

_Three little fishy fish_

_In the sea!_

I laugh. "You know, if there are only three fish in the sea then we're doomed." Everyone stares at me. I feel the color draining from my face. "What?"

Lana pats my cheek. "Guess what you just did, Dylan."

"Um…"

"You _laughed._"

I don't laugh anymore. Not around them. Maybe occasionally, at something otherwise inappropriate, like when I accidentally broke an ugly old plate of Mother's. But there is something hopeful in their eyes. Do they hope, I wonder, that after today, with my ambition no longer feasibly reachable, that I will really calm down? Go back to the old me?

"So?" I frown. "I laugh all the time. Just not around you guys."

And then they pretty much ignore me after that. Well, except for Lana who's still on my back. She chatters eagerly with me about her training, thinking it will perk me up, I guess. She's hopeless when it comes to balance so she has been strongly advised (ordered) to stay away from larger weapons. She says she wants to be as good of an archer as me one day, but then goes on to say how she is good with a knife. So, basically, my sweet little sister wants to be just like me and aspires to kill people. I just can't picture it.

"Tell you what," I say. "When I become a trainer, I'll give you lessons."

Mother sighs while Lana's face lights up with joy. "Really?"

"Yeah," I tell her. "Maybe you'll be able to lift a mace without killing someone oneday. I think that knives will be your forte, though. You're light, like can work on those."

Mother gives me a frantic look. It sounds like I'm planning to live vicariously through her. I want her to be able to defend herself if the need arises, but I don't want her anywhere near the arena. But it sounds like I've given up on going myself. Still, I really don't understand why Mom is so afraid about any of us going into the arena. Some of the moms in the district are so excited when their children step up, more than once I heard one of them cheer before the appropriate time.

When we get to the square, we sign in and two unfamiliar Peacekeepers try to remove Lana from her perch. One dangerous look from me has them stopped for a second and I know what they're thinking. _Former trainee, possible volunteer. Reckless, dangerous. Easy does it. _I gently set Lana on the ground, kiss her forehead, then give her a shove towards the pen for twelve-year-olds.

I hurry to the front where the pen for eighteens is and locate my friends very quickly near the line dividing the seventeen-year-olds from the eighteens. They're hard not to miss. Lily's exotically beautiful face lights up with a smile when she sees me, tapping Catia on the shoulder, who waves.

"Catia's told us something interesting." Spence says when I arrive.

"Oh?"

"You plan to volunteer." Ryin, Spence's twin, says.

"She was told to keep Nita quiet." Spence chimes in.

"We're going to help."

I smile at the twins. Except for the freckle Spence has on his chin, they're exactly the same: blonde hair and bright green eyes.

The other girl in our little group is the exact opposite of Lily, Catia, and I. Our hair is long, mousy, brown and auburn respectively, and we are tall and decently built. Heather is tiny and thin-limbed, like a bird, and she has chin-length blond hair and striking green eyes.

Heather's face is scheming when she adds, "We're ready. I found Nita. She's near the front."

"Waiting," Lily adds.

"The boys and Lily are going to the front," Catia says. "They'll try to keep her quiet long enough for you, but you're going to need to act fast. We're staying here with you."

I nod once.

"Hey, we uh…" Spence says suddenly, nervously.

I tilt my head, waiting.

Ryin starts to answer, but just then the clock overhead starts to _bong _out the hour and we're forced to be quiet and look at the stage.

There are over twenty chairs up there. One holds the Mayor, one holds our Capitol guide—new one this year—and the rest contain victors in order of their victory years, with our most recent, Finnick Odair, sitting closest to our Capitol escort.

This is Finnick's first year as an official mentor, I think. Or, that's what I heard from Annie last time I talked to her. He's gone every year but I haven't ever seen him dealing with any matters regarding the tributes so I guess he's just spent all the time with his ever growing harem. I'll have to get used to taking orders from Pretty-boy.

The Mayor welcomes us all to the reaping then begins his long and tedious speech about the history of Panem.

Long ago, this land used to be called North America. Apparently, life was much different then and the idea of anything like the Hunger Games was unheard of except in old stories. They were beginning to run out of resources and many people started to fight. The planet reacted badly to all the bombings, plagues, and other man-made weapons, so much so that a worldwide natural terror began. Land once dry was flooded, land that was once wet dried up. Fires were started that couldn't be put out until a merciful storm came that lasted for days at a time and drowned people. The resources were depleted and a brutal war was fought for the rights to have control of what was left.

When the mayhem finally died down and the waters receded on this land our ancestors were left with what they built into Panem. They made a shining and glorious city which would become the Capitol and the rest of the land was divided into thirteen districts. People were divided into districts based on their skills. My ancestors were fishermen and water-lovers, those who had forged lives by the sea and watery areas. The Capitol's residents were the war heroes, their friends and families, and other people who bought their way in. My district is on the coast of a body of water, they called it the gulf of some placed called Mexico.

If anyone knows what happened to the rest of the land outside North America then they're not telling. Oh well. It doesn't concern me.

Panem flourished nicely for several decades, then the Capitol began to become unfair and the districts, under the leadership of District 13, rose up against the Capitol. A rebellion that lasted five, long, wasted years. 13 was destroyed and the rest of our ancestors were subdued. To punish our ancestors, and ultimately us, the Capitol created the Hunger Games. Every year, one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen get to go to the Capitol for a week then participate. Last one alive wins. It's simple.

Districts 1, 2, and 4 never really viewed this as a punishment. We were richer and stronger than the others during the rebellion; we were the ones who fought the least against the Capitol since we'd been mistreated the least. However, our teenagers had still been taught to fight if the need had risen. So, when volunteering was first allowed in the second Hunger Games, volunteers eagerly stepped forward. When our first victor emerged in the third Games, he decided to start training kids. Two every year selected from a pool of candidates. And as time went on, more victors came home, and eventually resources and money were pooled to create the Trials.

In the other districts, the children, in most cases, were forced to go. Some even have had to be pried from a mother's arms as she wept and pleaded. Like that twelve-year-old from Six a few years back. His mother held him tight, pleading for someone to spare him because he was her last and only living son. He died on day one. I hate to say it, but I felt sorrier for the poor mite than I did his mother.

So, our rebelling ancestors were left to die with the knowledge that they'd condemned hundreds of children to death.

The end.

The Mayor finishes, finally, then he proceeds to introduce our victors. I know most of them from the Trials. Mags, Arco, Lillian, Greg, Beatrice, Cora, Henry, Breeze, Zaire, Reno, Marrian, Twyla, Beril, and Finnick. They are our surviving victors. The others are dead.

The victors, for the most part, look the same as the rest of us. Our eyes are always shades of green and blue, or one of each occasionally. Other colors are very, very rare. Shades of blonde and brown hair are the most common in District 4. My red hair is unusual in Crest since it runs in the upper class and most of them live in Sunrise. My Dad's mother was upper class. And black hair is almost unheard of, but the victor on stage, Beril Farron, is proof the gene still exists, somewhere. Although, there was a rumor among trainees that Beril has black hair because her father was a Peacekeeper from 2 who had an affair with her mother. But no one has the nerve to actually ask her, because if they do ask, they probably won't have any guts left afterwards.

Our Capitol escort is finally introduced. It's a new one this year. Oh I hope she's better than the last one, but from what I see, I doubt it. She has dark blue hair with green streaks and is wearing light green dress. She seems like something horrific that had washed up onshore. I wondered if this was intended.

"Happy Hunger Games!" she trills out in that horrible Capitol accent. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

_Oh just shut up and get on with it! _I think trying not to fidget.

"I am Tina Sheen." She tells us. "I hope I will have the honor to work with and aid you kind people for many years to come."

Oh yeah? Well hope you trip over that eyesore you call a dress and break your nose on the ground.

When no one responds, she sighs, seeming momentarily dejected, then recovers and goes over to the girl's ball and gets right to it. She rummages around and several sheets fall out. She hums pleasantly, dragging the moment on. I can barely hold still, my stomach dancing with anticipation. Finally, she pulls out one piece and carries it to the podium and smoothes it out for so long I swear she's trying to remove all the creases.

"Catia Hanson!"

I'd forgotten she was there until Catia gives a terrified squeal from beside me and then faints. She _actually_ loses consciousness. Right there in the middle of the reaping, right next to me. Heather gasps and kneels to check on her. I duck my head and try to appear concerned, but I don't think it works.

Tina laughs, going along with it. "Poor thing's so excited that she fell over!"

"No, ma'am. She's fainted." Heather announces loud enough for every microphone to hear as she jumps into view.

"Oh…well…then…." Tina says slowly. "I hope she does that often. Fainting is never good in the Games. Unless...there any volunteers?"

"Me!" My head isn't even fully up when I scream. I take a deep breath then bellow out, "I volunteer!"

The kids in the pen make a path for me to get through. Ducking under the rope, I climb up the steps to be introduced by the Capitol escort. Tina Sheen smiles at me and she pats me on the shoulder. I try not to flinch. "Hello, young lady. What's your name?"

"Dylan Syle." I say.

"Excellent!" Tina beams. "Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute, Dylan Syle!"

Almost everyone claps and there is a lot of whistling. I'm not just a tribute. I am a representative of District 4 now. It's my duty to bring us honor and glory, so the Capitol favors us for a year, and then next year, it's someone else's duty–that's what we've always been told. So I lift my chin and stare challengingly into the closest camera. _Take a good look, everyone. I'm going to be your victor._

Tina clears her throat. I didn't notice her leave my side, but now she's at the podium and she's got the piece of paper from the boy's ball in her hand. She didn't waste any time. A respectful hush falls over the crowd. She smoothes out the paper and calls up a fourteen-year-old boy named Ero. He mounts the stage without a trace of fear on his face and folds his arms, waiting, looking my way only once to throw me a nice smile.

"Are there any volunteers?"

"I volunteer!" Pisces shouts and then nudges past one boy and the others in the pen move aside so can walk through.

The boy who I used to call a friend makes his way up to us. He is dressed to intimidate; a tight shirt revealing the muscles on his arms and chest and baggy shorts that project an easy confidence. Ero jumps down from the stage, ignoring the steps completely, and heads back into the crowd while Tina asks Pisces his name.

"Pisces Quin."

Tina Sheen beams. "Well, two volunteers in a row! How exciting!" Not really, lady. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your tributes!"

I grin then turn to face the crowd as they applaud again. Silence falls again a moment later as Tina steps back and the mayor begins to recite the Treaty of Treason.

My eyes lock onto my friends faces first. Spence, Lily, and Ryin have rejoined Heather and are smiling up at me. Catia has regained consciousness but she's not smiling. I see Nita in the front, glaring at me with utter loathing. If looks could kill then I'd be a goner. I wonder what they did to her…

Then my eyes find my family. I'm not prepared for that.

Lana is shocked in the front of her pen, gripping Evan's hand on other side of the rope dividing their age groups. Luke looks horrified. When he notices me looking at him, my brother shakes his head in disgust. Dad's face is hard and disappointment becomes prominent when he realizes I'm watching him. He jerks his head sharply at Mother who is clinging to him, and looking like she's ready to follow Catia's example and faint.

I look away quickly before my resolve can waver. I will not show any form of weakness. Not while the cameras are on me.

I look around at some of the girls who'd been with me in the Finals. Sunny is amazed. Annie Cresta is down there, too, with Hilla, and they're both smiling up at me.

The Mayor finishes then the anthem is blasted over the speakers. Pisces and I shake hands formally. In that moment, I see more emotion in his eyes than I ever have before. Anger, fear, and, are my eyes deceiving me? Is that respect I see there too? Plus something else I really can't identify. I smile back confidently then let his hand go.

Six Peacekeepers come forward to escort us to the Justice Building. It's almost funny how they seem hesitant to force us to do anything. I think they know I'm armed. Anyone from around here knows most kids who'd been in the Trials as long as I had carry some sort of weapon on hand for a while. It comes from years of the possibility of being randomly attacked as we walked around. It was effective, yes, but cruel in a way. There was a bit of time when I was eleven, when they started the random attacks on us, that I refused to walk alone and every sudden movement made me jump.

I walk with my head high. Beside me, Pisces looks oddly surly, with his head down and hands stuffed in his pockets. He won't even look at me now. I wonder what is going through his head. I'm escorted to a room and they close the door behind me. I hear the lock click shut and I kick on the door sharply, warningly. I don't like being locked in.

"Hey!"

"Keep it unlocked," a familiar Peacekeeper, Jim, I think, murmurs. "She won't go anywhere. She volunteered."

There is a quiet argument but then the lock is undone. Satisfied, I walk over to the navy blue velvet couch by the wall and flop down. I put one of the pillows on the arm and lean back. The room is very nice. Fancy green wallpaper lines the top of the sky blue walls and there are pictures of tropical beaches and fish all along the walls. I can see our beaches outside the window.

Someone will be here to see me soon, no doubt. I pull the switchblade out of my pocket and flip it open, watching light glint off the blade. I'm alone for a few minutes. I just sit there and continue to play with my knife.

BANG!

The door flies open, banging against the wall so hard the pictures shake. I'm on my feet and the blade is sailing through the air in a heartbeat. It hits the wall barely half an inch above Mom's head. She screeches in alarm, ducks, then races into the room. Luke follows her in and yanks my blade out of where it is quite deeply imbedded. He throws it back and I catch it by the handle then snap it shut.

"Why?" Mother wails and pulls me against her tightly. I exhale a puff of air as I find myself crushed in her hold. "Dylan, why? You aren't supposed to go! Why are you doing this to me?"

It's hard to talk, crushed in her grip like this. She lets go and shakes my shoulders. "Dylan Syle, you better explain yourself or so help me I'll—"

"Jenny," Dad sooths and pulls her away from me. He guides her to the couch where she collapses in a fit of tears. As much as I try to tough it out, my insides wrench painfully and I massage my shoulder where her nails had dug in. He sits beside her, murmuring something to her

The next one to ambush me is Lana. She jumps at me and I barely manage to close my arms around her and keep upright.

"You promised me, Dylan!" She whines. "You promised me you'd teach me to throw a knife!"

"And I will," I tell her. "Just as soon as I get back."

Mother makes a strange sound and buries her face in her knees. "Kids, say your goodbyes quickly." Dad instructs. "We need to speak to Dylan alone."

Crabs, I'm in for it now. At least he and Mother can't really do anything to me now that I am a tribute.

Lana hugs me tightly and kisses my cheek. "Dylan, you have to come back. I want my lessons!"

I nod and set her down. "Watch how I work in the arena. You'll be a pro before I get back. And…here." I pull the switchblade from my pocket "Keep it safe for me, alright? You can take it to training with you. They'll recognize it as mine."

She smiled. "I'll take good care of it, I promise."

I hug her tightly for a second and plant a kiss on the top of her head. Two seconds after she moves Evan crashes into me.

"Promise, Dylan." He orders. "I won't leave this room until you promise me you'll come back."

I smiled. "I'll come back. Ask the trainers who worked with me. I'm hard to catch and even harder to kill."

"No, Dylan. _Promise me you will come back!_"

I sigh and place my right hand over my heart and put my other one in the air. "I promise I will come back."

That seems to be enough because he gives me another hug, allows me to kiss his forehead, then makes room so Luke can come and hug me then steps away.

"Be smart, Dylan," he tells me seriously. "You are not unstoppable. There are five others who have as much, if not more, training than you, and a lot of the others won't want to go down without a fight. Do not mistake physical disadvantages for weakness. Chances are they've had years to adapt."

These are things I learned years ago, but I'm glad that he at least bothers to remind me.

I nod seriously and kiss his cheek even though he hasn't shown any affection besides the stiff hug. "I know, thanks, Luke."

"Stay alive, little sister. We've already been through this once. I don't want to do it again."

I recoil. "What?"

He sighs, pats my shoulder then picks up Lana. "What do you mean?" Evan asks but Luke just shakes his head.

"We love you, Dylan!" Lana calls as they open the door. "Good luck!"

"The odds are in your favor!" Evan adds then they close the door, leaving me alone with my parents.

Dad beckons me over and I sit down on the edge of the couch. "Yes, Dad?"

He does the last thing I expect. He pulls me into a tight hug and refuses to let go despite my protests. After a moment, I give in and hug him back. Then he releases me for a second and Mom is pulled into a hug with me too. By the time he lets us go, Mom has calmed down enough to finally speak coherently.

"Dylan, you remember Rilee, right?"

Yes, I do, vaguely. Rilee was my older sister. Dark red, almost brown hair and sea green eyes, like Travis. She died years and years ago.

"She was a tribute, remember?" Dad prompts.

_Oh_. Yes, I do remember that, now that I actually think about it. I remember watching the TV while she—

Mom gives me a long, sad look. "She was so much like you, Dylan. She was strong, brave, beautiful, and unfaltering. She fought with knives too, actually. You have no idea what it was like when I realized you'd become the fighter she was."

I frown. "Are you disappointed?"

"No," Mom pulls me close for a second then releases me. "I'm very proud of you. You never give up. That is one of your best qualities, and one of you worst. You don't know when to quit sometimes. But she never gave up, either. She won her place into the Hunger Games the _proper_ way and was strong until the end—" Mom stops, opens her mouth, but closes it without finishing.

"She promised Luke she'd teach him to throw a knife when she came home. She promised to be his trainer one day. She was seventeen." Dad sighs. "She always did take a break from training to come to your birthdays. She even came when Evan was born. She never met Lana, though."

"Oh she was so eager to go to the Capitol and win…" Mom's starting to cry again. "I was so proud of her. I was sure she could win. But then…after the alliance had broken up she tried to team back up with the boy from District 1. He killed her in her sleep the night after."

I notice a glint in her eyes that I'd never seen before. "The coward!" she rages. "He wouldn't even risk facing her in an honorable fight. He killed her off while she trusted him with her life. I cheered when he died!" She looks suddenly worn out and defeated. Her voice drops to a murmur. "Luke's ambitions ended there and he didn't even bother to try to become a tribute."

"What about me?" I whisper.

"You…were sad." Dad says. "But you were six. You didn't really understand death yet. You thought she was just sleeping and you were upset she wouldn't wake up—"

The door opens and my hand flies to my pocket, only for me to remember that Lana has my knife. Good thing, too. I don't think it would be a good idea to attack a Peacekeeper.

"Times up," The man says gruffly.

Dad holds up his finger then pulls out a necklace woven from a thick, tan string. Dangling from it is a silver swirl. "Sorry we took so long. I ran home to get this for you. It was Rilee's token." Dad says.

I accept it gratefully. He and Mom hug me once more and kiss my forehead and cheeks, then they walk out of the room and the doors close behind me.

Feeling strangely worn out, I collapse on the sofa. I want to relax for a few minutes and process this information. I want to examine Rilee's necklace. I want to remember my sister more.

Half a minute later, my friends start filing into the room in pairs. Heather and Lily then Spence and Ryin. They don't have much to say to me. They just take turns hugging me, wishing me luck, and giving me small words of advice. Ryin gives me a kiss on the lips and I give him a punch in the gut.

Brok and Catia come next and while the she hugs me, he fixes me with a serious look.

"Stay alive, Dylan." He says. "I'll see you when you get back."

"Thank you," I say.

"Good luck," Catia whispers.

Annie and Sunny manage to slip in for the few minutes I have left. It's a very brief goodbye. They take turns hugging me, promising to send my goodbyes to Willow, reminding me of my training, and throwing out anything they can. They want me to come back really badly.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll be the "District Favorite."

"I knew it'd be you," Sunny says, elbowing me. "I always did."

"Uh huh. Sure."

"I'll be donating every penny I have to your fund."

"And I expect you to give me the full rundown next year when I'm your tribute!" Annie adds.

I smile. "Yes ma'am."

"Oh…and, um, I know you don't like him, but can you please try and nice to Finnick? For me?" She gives me a slightly pleading look.

Poor thing. She, like many other girls in Panem, harbors a crush for the handsome victor. Actually, I take that back. I think she's actually in love with him. The way she acted during his Games…

"Yeah, okay. I'll _try_. No promises."

When the door closes behind them, I can't shake the feeling that the door closing symbolized something more…permanent. Will I ever see them again?

_Of course you will,_ I tell myself angrily. _Stop it._


	3. Train

****Revised September 2012****

* * *

It's been a while since I was in a vehicle. The first time was on a bus to the Trials, the second and last time was when I was being driven home from the Trials on the same bus. This isn't the same dingy transportation vehicle the Trials uses, but a luxurious, well-furbished car that barely makes a sound, unlike the bus, which rumbled and groaned.

Only rich people can afford cars like this. So there are a few in Crest, but most of the people who can afford a car live in Sunrise. The rest of us walk, use horses, or wagons. Unless you have to go somewhere far, then there are fare cars you can hire to drive you. Not exactly cheap, though.

The car ride doesn't take long. I spend most of the time examining the seats and buttons. When we get to the train station, we are met by a swarm of cameras and reporters. I blanch when I see them. Thank Poseidon the tinted windows hide me from view.

"Deep breaths," my driver says quietly. He looks at me out of his rearview mirror and smiles reassuringly.

I nod and take a few more breaths, then I open the door and step out to face the mobs Cameras flash and gobble up my image. People shout questions at me, their voices overlapping so much that I couldn't answer even if I wanted to. My eyes find the screens for a moment and I'm relieved that I appear to be uninterested, rather than nervous and overwhelmed. Then the screen flicks to Pisces who looks excited, waving to the cameras.

I sigh—the cameras catch it as my expression shifts to annoyance—and I make my way over to my district partner, and tap him on the shoulder. He turns his smile to me, raising his eyebrows questioningly. I jerk my head towards the train and he nods, following me. We stand just inside the train so they can film us for a few more moments.

"Wave," Pisces suddenly hisses through his teeth. "Make them think you're honored."

It's only then that I realize I've been standing stone still while he's been waving at the cameras, acting all friendly. I plaster on a bright smil and wave at the nearest camera.

There is a warning beep and a series of hisses as the train starts up. We step back so the doors can close. The train lurches forward then we're speeding away from District 4. I run to the window to watch the district racing by at a speed I didn't know was possible. It's cool to watch, but the real sight is the train itself.

I got to ride in a train a few months ago when we were transporting fish and other goods to the train hub in District 6. It was a cargo train, with a single car of quarters that twenty of us had to fit into. The rest of the train was comprised of storage units and one measly kitchen.

This train is going faster than that one and and this car alone is even fancier than our Justice Building, that car, and the Victor's Village combined.

"Whoa," I breathe, awestruck, taking in everything from the soft carpet to the furniture to the walls. I wonder if it'd be too weird for me to kneel down and feel the blue carpet to see if it's as soft as it looks. Yeah, probably would be. But I can resist walking over to run my fingers across a vase that seems to be made of some kind of clear, shining crystal. Definitely from District 1.

I can feel Pisces' breath on the back of my neck. "I'm worried now, Dylan."

I turn to glare at him, my face inches from his. "Oh?"

"You're going to go to the Capitol, get lost in the glamour, and forget why you're there."

_Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you? _I think. "What makes you say that?"

He leans against the sea-green wall, nodding to the vase. "You like pretty things, you always have."

"Which is why you have no effect on me."

He tsks softly and shakes his head very slowly, "denial."

It's against the rules to fight with another tribute before the Games begin, but in this case, I think an exception needs to be made. Quick as a flash, I pick up the shining vase and chuck it at his head. He ducks to the side to avoid getting hit. It hits the wall, falling to the floor. It doesn't shatter though. That's some tough stuff.

Pisces jumps at me, his expression playful. I leap nimbly to the side, bringing my leg around to kick him. He avoids this, too, by dropping to the ground. I pounce, trapping his arms beneath my legs.

He laughs breathlessly. "Wow, Dylan. Nice to see you aren't on a suicide mission."

"Like I would forget how to fight?" I growl.

He laughs again then, with his superior strength, surges upwards and flips us over so I'm flat on the floor. I'm stunned for half a second and that's all he needs. He's got my legs pinned between his and my hands pinned at my sides.

"But, you seem to have forgotten that you should never give up until your enemy is dead," he grins.

I grit my teeth. "Yeah, yeah, thanks for the lesson. I'll remember that next time. Now get off me!"

He takes his time doing it. I end up kneeing him to get him going. I sit up, reaching for the vase, and stand up, turning it over in my hands. "This thing didn't even crack."

"You're kidding." He leans closer. "Well, fuck me."

"No thanks."

He laughs once. "What do you reckon it's made out of?"

"Some sort of gem? It doesn't feel like metal."

We look at each other. Pisces bites the inside of his lip, considering. "Wonder how long it'd take before it breaks..."

I grin, stepping back, and chuck it at the wall again. It hits, rebounding off, and lands on the carpet.

"Nothing. My turn." he picks it up and throws it at the wall. Nothing. We start laughing as he nudges it towards me with his foot. "We're gonna get in so much trouble."

"Not I we can't get it to break." I say, picking it up.

I raise it to throw it again when, "What do you think you are _doing_?"

We both jump at the high-pitched Capitol accent. I turn my head to see Tina Sheen standing in the doorway.

"That is solid diamond!" She screeches. "And a very expensive piece! Are you trying to break it? What is wrong with you?!"

But neither of us really notices what she's saying. We're more focused on what she's wearing. I look at Pisces and see my disgusted shock mirrored on his face.

Tina has abandoned her seaweed-green dress and now has on a light blue dress with what I can only describe as poofy sleeves and a pleated, poofy skirt. Her hair is blue, too, and in fluffy curls. She has light blue blush on, blue eyeliner, and blue lipstick. I'll bet I'd see blue nail polish, too, if I could see her hands.

"Put that down this instant!" I obey, mostly in shock, setting it gently back down on the table, and step back. "Honestly, are you some wild hooligan?! I was under the impression that tributes from your district are highly obedient and respectful..."

"Oh sweet starfish. She looks like a Hook doesn't she, Dylan?" Pisces chuckles to me as she prattles on. Hooks are what folks call the tramps that hang around the shady parts propositioning people.

I giggle.

"What are you two laughing about?" Tina puts her hands on her hips, displaying long, horribly blue nails.

"Oh, nothing." I say, trying not to grin.

"Yes, well, don't _ever_ do that again." She says and motions for us to follow. She takes us to our rooms and tells us everything is at our disposal and she'd return in an hour to collect us for dinner.

My room is very nice. The walls are painted a comforting sky blue. There's another door on the wall, several dressers, and a bed. I close my door and I head toward the other door and open it. I was right. It's a bathroom. I turn on the faucet and dip my head to take a drink then I spit the water out. It tastes wrong.

I wipe my hand across my mouth and sigh in relief. There's a trace of salt on my skin. The water is pure; there is not even a hint of the salty taste that you can always detect in District 4 water.

I walk back into my room and rummage through the many drawers of clothes. I finally select a pale blue tunic with a light green design embroidered around the collar, base, and sleeves and long, loose pants to match. I dress quickly then plop down on my bed and examine Rilee's necklace. It's very beautiful. Mom's loving hands, refusing to let her daughter's memory fade, have regularly polished the silver swirl. I unhook the clasp and slip it around my neck. I fiddle with it for a second then it locks into place. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and I find that I'm smiling.

Sometime later, Tina's back to collect me. She hasn't gotten rid of that horrific dress. Leaving my shoes behind, I follow her down the hallways to the dining room. Pisces is already there with Marrian, Reno, Finnick, Zaire, Beril, and Mags. Marrian and Reno will be our main mentors and it's the first year that Finnick isn't just here for kicks so he's learning how to be a proper District 4 mentor. Training, as it were. Mags always comes but she doesn't usually mentor. Zaire and Beril are here for kicks.

"Hello, Dylan." Marrian says sarcastically. "What a pleasant surprise."

I smile and sit down next to Pisces. "Good to see you, too, Marrian. What's for dinner? I'm really hungry."

Tina claps her hands and the attendants are in motion. Within seconds there is a hot meal in front of me. My mouth waters at the sight. Beef stew with vegetables, warm rolls, mashed potatoes, a fruit and cheese platter, and chocolate cake. The others talk as the meal progresses, but I keep silent, just observing the others.

Marrian won the Fifty-eighth Hunger Games because of a last minute gift from a sponsor that she used to kill her final two enemies who had formed an alliance specifically to take her down. She has the midnight brown hair and light green eyes that are so common in District 4's lower class. She is a fly-trap flower—beautiful and dangerous.

Reno, winner of the Fifty-fifth Hunger Games, is well muscled and fair-haired, like Pisces, the only difference being their eyes. Reno's are dark violet, surgically altered to match the poisonous berry he'd used to win his Games. He'd created a juice from the berries and left it in the canister with a silver parachute still attached to it while he went to hide, knowing full well that his last real competitor was tracking him. After that, Reno had had no trouble with the other tribute, a girl from Eleven who'd hidden the entire time. Instead of spilling her blood, which is exactly what the Capitol wanted, he'd created another concoction and forced the girl to drink it.

I don't know how Mags won—it was so long ago. She's in her late seventies so I'm not even sure if she remembers properly, to tell you the truth. Ever since she had the stroke two years ago, she's just not been the same, but she's sharp as a nail at the best of times. She's still pretty in a grandmotherly sort of way and is as friendly as can be. Finnick has been very close to her since his parents were lost at sea a few years ago. She took an unusual liking to him and when he volunteered, she became his main mentor.

Beril, a tall, narrowly built woman with short dark hair, won the Sixtieth Hunger Games, the year after Rilee went and died. I've never seen someone handier with knives than she is—she could probably kill me if she really wanted to. She is cunning, conniving, and cares for no one but herself. She was responsible for keeping watch one night when there were only three others left in the Career pack. She waited until they were all deeply asleep then, one at a time she paralyzed them by severing their spines, but not killing them so the cannons wouldn't fire. Once they were hindered she delivered deathblows. After that the others she ran into were easily disposed of and she won a mere two and a half weeks after entering the arena.

Zaire's Games are somewhat of a mystery. I only know that he barely won and was severely injured—he's got the mechanical arms to prove it. He doesn't like to talk about what happened and the other victors and trainers respect him enough to keep quiet.

Finnick, aka Pretty-boy, won by good looks, charm, great planning on Mags' part, and a lucky gift. Simple as that.

We finish dinner then head to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings. This is very crucial. During the first seconds after their name is called, tributes show how they really feel, and then we can compare that to whatever mask they conjure up. If a terrified child can put on a convincing display of nonchalance while they are really terrified then they are already planning to fight and are to be considered dangerous. No matter what their district number may be.

I take a seat on the middle couch, followed by Pisces on one side and Finnick on the other. Biting back a growl, I grit my teeth and stare at the dark screen of the television. As much as I don't like him, Finnick is very favored in the Capitol, and he could be very beneficial.

The screen flickers to life a few minutes later and the announcer appears on screen. It's been the same guy for fifteen years so he is remotely unchanged, except that he's wearing the Hunger Games colors for this year. Light blue. His clothes, his skin, his irises, his lips, his nails, his hair: light blue.

"How do you do it, Tina?" Pisces asks with a sigh.

Tina Sheen gives him a funny look. "What?"

"Be in two places at once."

It takes her a second to catch on. Her eyes flick to the screen and a red blush rises under her blue makeup. She gives a tiny 'hmph' and looks away. A low chuckle sweeps through the compartment. Pisces winks at me and I manage a small smile before I have to look away.

How? It's only been a few hours, but Pisces has gone from the arrogant young man I knew in the Trials to the playful boy I knew a long time ago. The one who was my friend, the one I never wanted to come to harm. Now he has to die for me to live.

The announcer's voice pulls me back to the moment. I can worry about our deaths later.

"Happy Hunger Games!" He shouts enthusiastically even though the microphone is on his shirt collar. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

"Yeah, yeah," Beril mutters.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, since I know many of you were otherwise occupied—" Meaning they were watching their own children being sent to their deaths "—it is now time to see the tributes for the Sixty-ninth Hunger Games!"

From the TV studio there is excited cheering and clapping. Tina Sheen claps, too, but she is the only one in the compartment.

Then the Capitol seal appears on screen and the anthem fills the room. The moment it's over, the recaps begin, starting in District 1. We watch a Capitol man reading two names out. Neither kid even makes it to the stage before their volunteers step forward. The male is well-muscled and the female is well proportioned. He calls himself Jules Merk and counter part is Silk Kister.

From the studio, three Capitol men and one woman are giving commentary on the reapings. Apparently, Jules is hot and Silk is sexy. Right now, I cannot see any signs of the years of training they must've endured. It could be makeup.

The boy looks arrogant, his chin lifted up as if everyone in the crowd is beneath him. One of his many predecessors murdered my sister. "He's mine." I decide aloud.

Pisces snorts. "Good luck."

Arno Darson, the male from 2, is easily twice the size of Pisces and Jules.

"The bigger they are the harder they fall." Pisces muses.

He's a threat. Oh sure Arno will be a powerful ally, but I plan to get rid of this one as soon as possible. There are some wolf whistles as the female from Two, who looks stunning to me, steps onto stage. She's called Leona Spew. She delicate and beautiful and there's something in her eyes, just a hint of anger—and the way she sticks out her chin, as if in defiance at the camera.

Usually, the District 3 produces tributes pale and thin from a life spent mostly indoors and with little food. District three designs and produces gadgets, mostly for the Capitol. But these two, though they are pale, seem to be stronger than their predecessors were.

Catia is called and she faints. The commentators roar with laughter. I didn't realize it at the time, but I looked thoroughly mortified. Tina practically pleads for a volunteer. I grit my teeth.

"I volunteer!"

I watch myself walk calmly to the stage. The camera zooms in on my face and one of the commentators wolf-whistles. It's is so unexpected and _so_ inappropriate considering the ages of those people that I can't help but whine, "Eww!"

The room laughs as one. I glare at them. "Oh shut up! You guys don't have old men thinking you're hot."

"I do." Finnick says matter-of-factly.

"Oh that's disgusting, Odair." Beril wrinkles her nose.

Pisces clears his throat and points to the screen. I didn't hear the boy being called out. Ero makes his way to the stage and I see annoyance on my own face as he takes his place beside me. Pisces goes up and the cameras follow Ero down to his family before going back to Pisces.

"You looked so serious," I laugh at Pisces, my disgust forgotten. He snorts and points at the screen.

The District 5 female is already up on stage and the male is walking up. There is nothing impressive about them whatsoever, except for their reddish hair. I don't think I even caught their names. District 6's tributes look sly. Seven's male that looks ready to go down kicking but the female looks ready to die of fright. The female from 8, Ellery, actually starts crying and Peacekeepers have to pull the twelve-year-old girl away from her mother.

The man calls the name, "Garret Kollin" and almost immediately, a boy comes out of the seventeen-year-old pen. His hair is light brown and his eyes are deep green. Green like the leaves on an evergreen, but with a hint of emerald in the depths. His eyes and his face are calm. It's spooky. As he passes the eighteen-year-old pen, a girl leans forward and yanks him towards her, then she kisses him for everyone to see. My mouth falls open and Pisces groans in annoyance. He's surprised, but Garret still manages to stay calm as he mounts the stage. I narrow my eyes.

District 9's tributes are dangerous, more dangerous than any of the others. They're cousins, they held each other on stage. They will have the deepest alliance in the arena.

The female from 10 tall, but underfed. When the male is called, no one immediately emerges, and there is quite a commotion. The camera cuts in on two kids in the twelve-year-old pen—twins, by the looks of it. They have the same light skin and brown hair common in their district. Their hair is cropped very short, but shabby and they both look thin. The only difference is that one set eyes has a thin whitish film over them, but the terror there is unmistakable. He's blind. The one who is not blind finally moves away from his brother and heads up to the stage, his hands clenched into fists.

"It's impolite to keep people waiting, Shon," the Capitol escort says, unimpressed.

"No, I'm Skyler. I volunteer for my brother."

The escort shakes his head. "It doesn't work that way. He needs to come up here himself."

"He's blind." Skyler informs the man flatly. "Do you really want to watch him stumble up here then stumble back?"

They don't make him. District 11 is unexciting, although the female is missing one of her arms. And, finally, from 12 comes an unusually thick-boned, older girl with fair hair, then a younger, unimpressive dark-haired boy. The tributes from that district are always one or the other. The commentators comment about how few people clap but that's nothing new. There are the final close-ups and I see both tributes are dead scared then it cuts to the anthem and seal again. The commentators wish us a _Happy Hunger Games_ then bid us farewell and the screen goes dark.


	4. Arrival

**Did you know cats can fart? Holy Jesus what has my kitten been eating? Gas...mask...!**

**Erm...anyway. Enjoy!  
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My eyes open and I know I've overslept before I even look at the clock beside my bed. I'm not sure why that, for the first time in seven years, I've overslept. It's not natural.

In the Trials we had to wake up at six to six-thirty and be at breakfast by seven. All ten year olds learned that really quickly. If you weren't there on time you were denied food and sent to train while the other kids ate and you had to wait until lunch at noon. Sometimes you had to wait until dinner or, if you were especially late, you had to wait until breakfast the following morning. After five times of starving all day my brain and stomach were finally on the same page. Ever since then, I've never been able to sleep late.

So it's odd that I've slept forty-five minutes later than normal. _Forty-five minutes…!_ I leap out of bed and fly into the bathroom. I've only got fifteen minutes!

I don't bother with a shower since my prep team will have me within hours and instead I press a button that provides me with a warm brush that I run quickly through my hair. I dip my hands into the bowl of salt water I made last night and rub it up and down my arms, legs, and face. The familiar smell of home calms me down enough that I am able to walk back into my room to select an outfit.

This outfit is the one I'll be wearing into the Capitol. I have to look nice. After a minute, I select some light blue pants and put the shirt I wore to the reaping back on and slip my boots on too. I put Rilee's necklace around my neck and touch the charm for a second.

I nearly knock an attendant over in my dash for the dining car. I shout an apology—I rarely do that—but I don't turn to see who I introduced to the floor. When I get to the compartment, Marrian is waiting with a plate full of food in front of her but no one else has arrived yet.

"Good morning," she says brightly. A single attendant stands by the far door dressed in white and not facing us.

I smile at him, "Hello," but he gives me a fearful look and looks away. "Is he an Avox?" I ask. Marrian glances over and nods. "Sorry," I tell him. He nods, just a tiny twitch of his head to let me know he understands.

Avoxes are people that have committed acts of treason against the Capitol. They do something horrid to their tongues so they can't talk and then are forced to be servants. Talking to them, except to give an order, can result in punishment for them, which is really unfair because they can't control who talks to them.

I take a seat quickly and don't look at him. Pisces and Reno join us a few minutes later. While Pisces studiously ignores the Avox, Reno gives him a strange smile.

Once they're seated, several other attendants come out and baskets and plates of probably every kind of breakfast food are placed on the table. I pile food onto my plate—pancakes, sausage, bacon, a round bread with a circular hole in the middle and covered in white powdery sugar, eggs, and toast.

A piece of toast slips out of Reno's sure fingers.

Both of them go for it at the same time. My view is partially blocked by Marrian's chair, but I'm pretty sure I see the Avox and the mentor grasp each other's hands before the Avox hurries away with the toast. Reno takes another and sits down with us.

"You're going to get that poor man punished." Marrian mutters to Reno once all the attendants are gone.

Reno smiles wryly. "Drop and I have been friends every year since I was a tribute. He's not been punished yet!"

"His name is Drop?" I ask curiously.

"No, I actually don't know the fellow's real name—he can't exactly tell me—but I just call him Drop because I always have to drop something so he won't get in trouble for socializing."

I giggle.

Drop comes back with a pitcher and he pours us a thick, frothy brown drink. Hot chocolate. I don't speak to him and he returns to his position beside the table. He is ignoring us, but I know he's a friend.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. This food is delicious, much better than what they can make back home. And as for this dough thing…

"What is it?" I hold up the mysterious sweet bread.

Pisces looks over, his mouth full of food, and smiles a bit. "Dow mutt."

"What?"

He swallows the food and takes a breath. "Doughnut."

Doughnut! That's it!

I've had doughnuts only once and that was years ago. I was fourteen, it was the last time we had a victor. It's no wonder I've forgotten what they're called. But those only had a sweet glaze over them. This powdery sugar is delicious—it melts in my mouth.

I notice Drop's eyes are fixated on the delicacy in my hand. I can't miss the longing there. I stand up and hold it out to him. He shakes his head quickly.

"Go on," I say quietly. "I won't tell."

He shakes his head and glances toward the table.

"Dylan," Reno says gently. "He can't eat it. He can only have liquids because of…."

He trails off. I don't need anymore explanation though. My cheeks burn with chagrin and I mumble an apology and sit back down. Pisces is chuckling. I don't realize it until I've finished the doughnut. I frown a bit and ask what's so funny.

He laughs teasingly. "You, Dilly."

I scowl. "Don't call me Dilly!"

"Alright, that's enough." Marrian takes another bite of her pancake then puts her fork down. "We were going to wait for Finnick and Tina to get here, but apparently they chose to sleep in. We need to discuss the Opening Ceremonies."

Pisces and I glance nervously at each other.

"I spoke to your stylists last night on the phone." she goes on. "I told them to not make you look sexy, brute, or innocent. Those three don't suit either of you. I also told your stylist, Dylan, to warn the prep team about your…skittish tendencies."

I wince. "Uh…thanks."

"Now, in the chariot, I want you both to appear confident and comfortable. Got it?"

"Yeah," Pisces says. "Smiling, waving, and smirking, right?"

Reno nods grimly. "Yes. You two are to stand close together and act at least somewhat friendly should you happen to look at the other."

"Right," I take a deep breath and let it out. "Anything else?"

"Yes, you two," Marrian points her knife at us warningly. "I know how you two are. You're not to fight your stylists or prep teams. Just go with it and try to be friends with them. If you win, you will be dealing with them for years to come and how they dress you will affect how many sponsors you pull. Being from our district gives you an edge already—the Capitol people love our seafood—but don't get cocky. You two must be charming."

Pisces and I glance at each other.

"Sharks are sneaky creatures, don't you think?"

Pisces and I jump at the sound of Finnick's voice. I turn to see him leaning against the door, smiling thoughtfully.

"Dylan, you were on the boats a lot. How do sharks behave when approaching a target?"

He knows the answer just as well as I do, but he's probably just trying to impress Marrian and Reno with his skills as a mentor. "Usually they appear calm and they circle their prey to trap them in then they strike hard and fast."

"I want you to be sharks." Finnick glances at Marrian and Reno for approval and I see Reno nod out of the corner of my eye. "You need to be deathly calm and confident, just like a shark and then when the moment is right, attack!" He slaps his hands together for emphasis.

I look at Pisces. He is frowning down at his nearly empty plate. I poke his arm. He glances up and I cock my head to the side. "Well? Do you think we can do it?"

He laughs once. It's hollow, mocking. "You want us to be a team, then?" he glares at Reno. "Are you forgetting that only one of us can be on the train back?"

Reno returns the glare and his violet eyes flash with indignation. "Pisces, if the time comes that you are dying in the arena, who would you want to win? Dylan or some other district's tribute?"

Pisces sighs. "Dylan."

"Exactly." Marrian leans forward and pats out hands. "You two are enemies in the arena, yes, but you each are the only ally the other can truly trust. If you know you won't make it, at least wish the other good luck before you die. If you don't then so help me I will go to the afterlife, drag you back, and force you to do it."

I crack a smile and nod.

"Good."

After breakfast, I head back to the compartment where we boarded the train. There's a sitting room there and I flop down onto the Capitol-made couch. It's perfectly stuffed with what feels like feathers and the fabric is smooth like silk, but firm like leather. I smile and close my eyes, imagining myself on the beach back home. I'm just picturing the clear water when I sense a change.

I open my eyes to find the lights on and the windows dark. I yelp and jump up. …Oh, we must be in the tunnel. Since the Capitol is in the heart of a vast mountain chain, there's a tunnel that trains have to go through to reach it. Pisces enters the room a minute later with Finnick.

"We're almost there," Pisces says.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." I mumble. Finnick laughs and I find myself asking him, "What did you feel at this point?"

Finnick smiled just a bit. "Nervous, yeah, but excited and eager. My partner, Cassee, was really excited, too." He sighed and his eyes clouded with memories. "She was very sweet. I do miss her. "

Cassee had been sweet. She had helped me train a few times when I was younger.

"One last thing," Finnick's got his hand on my shoulder and he turns me around slowly. "I know what you think of me and I don't blame you. You guys do what you've got to do and let me work with the crowd. I'll do my best to get you sponsors."

He looks so sincere and sounds so…grim for those few seconds.

I give him a small smile. "Um…good luck?"

He laughs and runs a finger through his hair, sounding like the flirtatious man I've come to know him as. "Luck, m'dear, is something I don't need."

I frown just a bit. I consider telling him that there is a perfectly nice young woman back home who would love to spend time with him, maybe give him secrets, maybe a gift or two—something she made, something special, not something mass produced and imported—but I know she doesn't want me to. Besides, it's not like Finnick Odair would ever go with someone like Annie Cresta. No matter how nice and honest she is.

The train is slowing down and Finnick takes a deep breath and flashes a smile. "My public awaits."

"Hey, whatever, Pretty-boy." I say darkly. Finnick gives me a curious look, noticing the sudden hostility in my voice. It's because, honestly, I think I dislike him even more now.

Pisces comes to stand on my other side. "He's going to be at the window with us." He explains. "If they see us with him we'll pull sponsors automatically."

Then the lights go off and a new, dazzlingly bright light filters through the windows. I push the curtains as far wide as they will go then I press my face against the full-length glass. I hear Pisces gasp as we both see, for the first time in person, the Capitol of Panem. Nothing has ever done this place justice. Not the many pictures, photographs, and videos. Nothing has every captured this magnificent place they way my eyes do now. I wonder if even my eyes are catching the true grandeur of this metropolis. Buildings tower so high they make our Justice Building seem puny. The hues of color glisten in the air. I see odd vehicles (I think they're cars) zooming down the street. They don't look like any cars we have in District 4.

Then I see the people.

They are just as bizarrely colored and dressed as the images make them. Skin, hair, and eyes every color of the rainbow and then some. I glimpse a person whose skin _is_ every color of the rainbow. Only a few people appear normal. The rest are freaks. Aliens. The colors aren't natural! I'm suddenly longing for the blue of the ocean, the blonde of Heather's hair, the red of Mother's hair, the green in Evan's eyes, the brown of wood; natural, normal. Familiar.

The train is crawling along now and people are waving frantically, screaming. I wave back and smile. Finnick's show, though, wipes out all my efforts. He is every bit the charming, drop-dead-gorgeous man I've seen on television. His bright eyes are wide and brilliant. His perfect, white smile is radiant as he blows kisses. People outside faint.

A little girl runs along side the train, as close as she can safely get to the tracks. She waves frantically. I crouch down so I can wave at her eye level and give a smile just for her. Her neon orange eyes look odd with her normal skin and hair, but they light up all the same when she realizes I've noticed her. She stops running and waves as we pull into the station.

"She was adorable." I say. "Like a kid back home."

"They _are_ human, Dylan." Pisces reminds me quietly. "And I think you just got a sponsor. That little girl will probably beg her parents to fund you."

I smile. I hadn't been trying to get sponsors. I'd been just trying to be kind to a child, but if it got me a sponsor then that was even better.

We pull into the train station and the doors open behind us. I take a deep breath and look at Pisces, who's face has suddenly lost all its color.

I gently take his hand. "Come on. We'll get through this. Just be brave."

He smiles and squeezes my hand. "Alright."

Finnick is already through the door and the crowd is screaming their approval. Then Marrian and Reno walk out. The crowd goes even wilder. They want us to come out now. Pisces gently leads me into their view then we stand, hand-in-hand, facing the cameras.

_Take a good look, everyone. We are facing certain death but we are friends._

Then we walk into the crowd.

"Dylan! Dylan, over here!" That's the first thing that reaches my ears.

A reporter is beckoning to me. I glance at Marrian and she nods encouragingly. But when I try to let go of Pisces' hand, he grips even tighter.

"Are you scared, Pisces?" I mutter. He swallows and nods. "Typical. You can cut down anyone in your path but when the cameras come at you, you're a jellyfish."

He laughs.

"Dylan Syle!" the reporter calls again.

"Your public awaits." Pisces teases me, loud enough the cameras to hear. He gives me a playful shove toward them. I glare.

"Hello, Dylan!" The reporter, an energetic man with plum-purple hair, puts a microphone to my face.

"Hey."

"I'm Ajax Shway from 8-Z news, exclusively interviewing the District 4 tributes. So, do you have anything you'd like to say?"

I peer curiously into the camera, making it seem I'm trying to peer in and see all of Panem.

"Hi, Mom!"

Ajax laughs. "So you're family is probably watching, huh?"

I nod. "Yeah. They're probably glued to the screen!"

Appreciative screaming prevents me from speaking again. I don't even have to look to know that the arm around me belongs to Finnick.

"Hello, Finnick." The closest female says dreamily and puts her microphone in his face. "Do you have anything to say about Dylan."

Finnick smiles down at me. "She's a like a tiger kitten."

I stare up at him, mouth hanging open. "Finnick, I swear—"

"She may not look like much," he cuts me off, "but she has one hell of a bite."

I grin at him. But he takes it one step further and calls Pisces over, then drapes his arm over Pisces' shoulder too. "We grew up together." He tells everyone, making it sound like we're all best friends. Smooth. "Pisces and I use to spar under the docks. …I let him win most of the time."

Pisces snorts. "Yeah right. I don't call slipping off a rock and landing on your but in the water letting me win."

I laugh right along with some of the people and Finnick snorts. "How do you know that wasn't on purpose?"

"Because you're too proud to forfeit, even when you're losing," I tease.

"I seem to recall you doing something similar once when—"

"Oh shut up." I snap.

The reporters love this. We have suddenly become more than ordinary District 4 tributes. We are _Finnick Odair's_ personal friends. We are important enough to Finnick that he's telling everybody about us, joking with us. We probably just racked in so many sponsors… Thank you, Finnick!

"I'm sorry, everyone." Finnick says gravely. "But I'm afraid I must take these two inside. Their stylists will probably come out in a fury if I don't!"

There is a lot of laughing and Finnick leads us inside the Remake Center.

Let the nightmare begin.

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**Let the action begin! ...What you don't think getting attacked by a prep team is action? No? What about the opening ceremonies? Training?**

**Review! And tell all your Hunger Games loving friends!  
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	5. Prep

**Well, here's another chapter! Enjoy!**

**Bring on...THE PREPPIES!  
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"Hello!"

"Good morning, dear!"

"Hi!"

"Hello there, child."

Help!

Four brightly colored people swarm down on me. I yelp and jump away from them, but they don't care.

"My name is Iris!" squeals a slightly plump woman with rainbow hair and too bright forget-me-not blue eyes. "This is Cevin," she points to the man who looks more like a walking banana than a human being with his bright yellow skin and brown hair. Cevin gives a deep bow. "He's my brother!"

I look between the two and see absolutely no resemblance whatsoever.

"I'm Simona," the calm woman says. Unlike the others, she seems down to earth. Her red hair is natural, like mine, only short and straight. The only thing that is fake about her are the impossibly long nails she has and the jewels that decorate around her green eyes.

"And I'm Lynnea," the final woman sings. Her hair is light blue, and so are her eyes and skin. Clearly, she has decided to sport this year's colors, too. She looks about thirty, but sounds around fifty! Gah! Surgery!

"I'm Dylan," I say carefully.

"We know," Iris says cheerfully. "We were watching the reapings. We were concerned when we sat that Cat girl faint. I said to Ceven, 'Oh no, we have to make that look pretty?' I was really worried, you know. There is only so much we can do. We need beauty to work with…"

As she prattles, without drawing breath, I wonder if she realizes that my eyes are narrowing and my fists are clenched so tightly that my nails are digging into my palms. I don't suppose she cares that it's one of my best friends she's insulting.

"Catia!" I snap.

Iris pauses. "What?"

"Her name is Catia! Tina pronounced it wrong! It's Cah-tee-uh." I say, enunciating each syllable carefully so, hopefully, it'll get through all the makeup and stuff she's done to herself and reach what few brain cells she has.

"Oh. Alright. Still, she was simply dreadful looking. You don't know how excited we were when we saw you, though! Alaina is excited, too. She's your stylist. We are going to make you look fabulous!" She's practically singing at the end.

I shift ever so slightly, ready to launch myself at the woman and bash her face until she looks "dreadful." She tilts her head curiously and studies me, unaware how close she is to being maimed.

Cevin removes his dark sunglasses. "Dylan, Alaina warned us that you might be difficult."

I shift my murderous look to him and he only blinks in response. "Now, we'll have none of that, alright?"

I take a deep breath, letting my muscles relax, and I straighten up. I nod curtly.

"We have a lot of work to do to make you presentable." He says. "We can't send you out there naked!"

"No you can't." I agree and with a sigh I surrender myself to their will.

I have to stand perfectly still for ten minutes while they examine me with my clothes on, then they make me do the same thing without my clothes. This does not bode well with me.

Only my mother has been able to see me without garments on since I turned fourteen. No one else. Not Lana, not Dad, not my brothers, _no one _at the training center—well, except maybe after the Finals when I was getting fixed up, but I was unconscious then—and certainly _not _in front of complete strangers. I'm devising ways to punish them every time they remind me. It must show on my face. They're pampered and sheltered brats, but their instincts sense danger.

Simona claps her hands and I'm ordered to go stand in a circular dip in the floor. I do without protest and stand on top of the drain. I'm opening my mouth to ask what's happening, when a wall comes out and encases me. I shriek in alarm and I slam against it, trying to break free. This must be a common occurrence because the wall is firm and holds fast. Iris is telling me to relax, I think, but she sounds distant.

A showerhead comes down and I'm doused in warm water. I gasp in shock when it turns cold suddenly. Then it's warm again. I slide down the wall and huddle on the floor as the water batters me. I don't like it. The distinct, massaging pattern of the water on the train is gone and the familiar, constant pour of water back home is but a mere memory. It's unremitting and hard, it's only job to completely rid my body of anything that still clung to it. The water stops abruptly and I'm left shivering and feeling oddly bare. Then the wall is gone and they pull me up. Then they proceed to coat my skin in some gritty stuff that feels like thick salt water. I don't really mind the feeling, but then they are armed with strange sponges and they're scrubbing me down.

"Stop!" I gasp. They stare at me.

"What ever is the matter, child?" Cevin asks, baffled.

"The salt—" I begin, but stop. They won't understand. It's impossible for their primped and premed bodies and minds to understand why I like salt on my skin.

"Oh it's not salt," Iris laughs fondly. "Don't worry."

I don't protest as they resume scrubbing. They take away dirt I didn't know was there, the salt is banished, and I'm pretty sure they've removed a few skin layers. I'm freshwater. I'm clean and pure and empty. I need my salt.

They towel me off and I get to sit in a chair with a robe on while they work on my nails and comb my hair out. Then they start to chatter and I find it hard to keep up with them. Finally, I just don't really bother and I make occasional comments when needed. Then, to my shock, they start to ask me questions. I try to answer them, shocked that they actually seem curious about me personally.

"Well…" I've been asked about Rilee. "She was kind and very beautiful. She always came to my birthday parties. I was six when she died."

Lynnea pauses; the nail filer doesn't touch my next nail. Then she pats the back of my hand. "I worked on Rilee when she was here."

I turn to face the old-but-not-old woman. "What was she like here?"

She carefully readjusts me so the other three can continue with their work and resumes filing my nails. "Eager. She told us all about her family. She told us she'd been training since she was ten and that her little brother, Locke, was excited to beginning after his birthday."

"Luke," I correct a bit more sharply than I meant to.

"Yes, him. She mentioned you a lot, Dylan."

"She did?"

"Yes, she was really fond of you." Lynnea pauses and I think she wipes her eye. "And there was a little boy, too. Evan, was it? Well, she said he was a ball of energy."

I nod. "She has another sister, too. Lana. She never got to meet her, though." I sigh deeply, sadly.

There are small cries from the rest of my team. "Oh how sad!" Iris gasps. Their pity doesn't last long, however, as they turn their attention to the next matter at hand.

Iris and Cevin leave and come back with a bunch of strips of cream colored material. Lynnea and Simona spread them all over my body, my arms, under my arms, all around my legs, around my eyebrows… I lifted my arms to examine them as was seated on the table. Then just as Simona grips the edge of one of the strips on my arm, I realize what they're doing to do.

I grit my teeth so I don't scream in pain as they rip hair out of my already sensitive arm.

Great white sharks, that hurts! I clench my fists and my nails dig into my palm. Simona and Lynnea proceed to rip the hair out of my skin and I just keep my eyes on the brother and sister preppies so I don't scream obscenities. How the hell are they pulling so much out when I barely have any? In District 4, we like to keep our legs and arms looking nice since they show so much.

Iris and Cevin are opening containers of stuff that I can smell from here and based on the _pleasant_ odor, I'm one-hundred percent sure I don't want it anywhere near me. As the last bit of hair I didn't know I had is being yanked away, they're bringing it over the stuff and Simona and Lynnea proceed to rub it all over my body. It stings my raw skin, but then gradually it stops and leaves a soothing feeling behind. A sigh escapes my lips.

"We're almost done," Iris squeals brightly.

The robe I've been wearing is removed and they examine every inch of my body with their sharp, odd-colored eyes. They pluck out last bits of hairs with tweezers then stand back to admire their work.

"Wonderful!" Lynnea sings. "You're simply stunning, Syle!"

"No," Simona says in her odd, calm voice. "She is not stunning yet—time to get Alaina."

Then they're running out of the white room and slamming the door, and I'm alone. I pull the robe back on and sit on the table. I run my fingers through my hair and sigh. I'm not Dylan that left home anymore. I've been stripped of salt and I lost a lot of dignity just now. Oh well. It can't be helped, I expect.

I'm still _me_, though. And everyone will soon know who I am.

The door opens and I don't look up until the voice of my stylist reaches my ears.

"Hello, Dylan."

Alaina Kelli, the female Four stylist for the past twenty years. She has long, flowing white hair and her skin has a silver-blue tint to it. There are strange, but dazzling markings along her arms. She reminds me of the wind that blows in from the sea.

"You look pretty," I tell her. _In a really weird way_.

She smiles. "Thank you. Now, I know you're probably dying to get decent clothes on, but I need to see what I'm working with for myself. Lynnea described you as…thin."

I smile wryly. "Yeah, I am. I couldn't play the sexy card if I wanted to."

"Not necessarily," Alaina objects. "I can make you someone every eligible man in Panem wants."

"Er, no thank you. I'm perfectly fine being studiously ignored by the males."

She laughs and motions for me to rise.

I stand up and slip the robe off. She circles me a few times, observing me carefully, then finally she nods and tells me to put my robe back on and follow her. I do, carefully, and we head into a room. There are two blank walls, and the other two are made entirely of glass, giving us a beautiful view of part of the Capitol. I gasp. "Nothing like Four, hmm?" Alaina guesses. I shake my head. "Well, if you win, you'll be spending plenty of time in the Capitol."

I smile and we sit down in two plush chairs. A table comes up with food on it and we eat swiftly in silence. Baked chicken breast with some tangy dressing over it, sliced oranges, chocolate dip and strawberries. We even ordered seconds of the chocolate dip and strawberries. Alaina laughs suddenly and points at my nose. I cross my eyes to see a dot of chocolate on it and I laugh, too. She hands me a napkin and I wipe the stuff off. I really like Alaina. She's every bit the Capitol woman my female stylists are, but she seems like someone who could be a friend.

"So," Alaina says when she's eaten her fill. "As you know, tributes are always dressed to reflect their district industry. My partner, Daemon, and I agree you two simply don't look like you could pull off a 'fisherman' and be stunning. No offense, dear, but you just don't have the right type of beauty needed. Your hair may be long, but I'm afraid you could easily be mistaken for a boy if you are hidden behind all those clothes. So, we decided to focus on what your district produces, rather than the workers."

Two hours later, I'm wearing a light silvery-blue unitard. The inside of it is silky smooth, but on the outside it is covered in large, raindrop-shaped sequins that glint and glimmer in the light.

Alaina has called Simona, Lynnea, Iris, and Cevin back. Lynnea is painting all twenty of my nails, Simona is stenciling raindrop shapes on my hands while Cevin slips strange things over my fingers on both hands. I raise one hand and laugh. It looks like there is a thin web between my fingers, almost like a duck's. And with a little makeup on my fingers it'll look perfectly natural! Iris is putting my makeup on, getting approval from Alaina after what feels like every stroke. Alaina herself is busy with my hair.

It's been covered in some spray and goo, washed, rewashed, and dried with care. Now she is curling it with some sort of hot pole-thing. She calls it a curling iron. When she finally puts the iron down, I sigh in relief. Too quickly, it seems. They start to busy themselves with threading long strings with seashells attached into my hair.

"No shoes?" I ask.

"Nope," Cevin says, popping the 'p.' "You get these!"

He holds up a pair of small…flippers. My eyes widen and I say nothing as he slips onto my feet, hooking them to the feet of the unitard. I finally force myself to look down. It really only looks like a slight flipper has extended from my toes and the color matches perfectly with the color of the rest of my costume. I hold up my hands and laugh.

"Alright, let me look at you one last time." Alaina says. She circles me. She stops in front of me and I see that her eyes are glistening with tears.

"You're just as beautiful as she was." she whispers.

"Who?"

"Rilee."

My mouth falls open. Of course, Alaina would've been her stylist, too.

Alaina smiles. "She was a very sweet girl. It's a shame she didn't win."

Lynnea nods.

I find myself nodding too as I reach up to touch— "Where is it?" I shriek, groping around my bare neck. "The necklace!"

Simona holds up Rilee's necklace. "This thing?"

Alaina gasps and holds her hand out. Simona places it in her palm obediently and my stylist examines it almost curiously. "This…this is—"

"Rilee's token."

She frowns a bit and holds it up. Then she shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry, I can't. It doesn't match. But I'll take this to the board and get it cleared. I'll make sure it's your token." We both know there is no _guarantee_ that I will be able to wear it, but if Rilee could then I should be able to, too.

Alaina tells me to close my eyes and she guides me over to the full-length mirror. When I open my eyes I do not see me. The creature in the mirror is from the clearest, brightest depths shining with all of the beauty of the sea. I do not belong in this room or in this city. I don't even belong in District 4. I belong in the waters of the ocean. That is my home.

"I…" I don't know what to say. "I'm…"

"Beautiful?" Iris pipes.

I nod, still gaping at my reflection. Somehow these strange, eccentric people have managed to make a fish look like something majestic and, mind you, I've been around them enough to know that they are _not. _At least not the ones we catch.

I say goodbye to my prep team and follow Alaina down the hall. The soft carpet feels nice and I'm glad that the odd flipper slippers don't hinder my walking. We meet up with Pisces and a man who has spiky neon yellow hair and electric bolts stenciled into his skin. He looks like he is being electrocuted. I have to blink rapidly to adjust my eyes. Alaina and the man I know to be Daemon kiss each other's cheeks quickly. "You look stunning!" my stylist tells her partner.

I glance at Pisces.

"Oh, he is remarkable!" She continues.

I turn my head to look at my partner fully. We do not look exactly the same, but we are defiantly from the same realm. Instead of a unitard he has on tight pants that are the same color and design as my outfit. His bare skin is covered in stenciled scales that look just as remarkable as the sequins on his pants. He also has same the flippers I do. His eyes seem to glow, but I know that's just the makeup and lighting. His hair is completely down, not even a hint of gel or anything gunky to slick it back, but there is something in his hair that reminds me of, well, seaweed.

We look cool.

Pisces leans over and wraps an arm around my waist, careful to not mess up my costume. "So, m'lady, how are—ow!"

I elbowed him in the ribs.

"Hey, no fighting another tribute, Dylan." He teases and I scowl.

"Get off me."

"Nah."

"Get the hell off me!"

"Hey, now that's no way to talk to the King of the sea."

"You're no king."

"Yes I am! And you're my queen!"

"Well this is no way to treat the Queen." I snap and push him off. He's unfazed and smiles lazily at me.

"Not fighting, I hope." Daemon drawls. His voice, in contrast to his static appearance, is surprisingly low for a Capitol man and very firm. I like Alaina better.

"No," I say quickly. I glance up at Pisces and mutter, "King my ass! You're a fish, fish-brain, just like me."

Daemon frowns, but then he shakes his head and motions for us to follow him. We ride the elevator down to the bottom floor and it opens into a huge stable. There are twelve different chariots lined up with two horses in the front of each. The chariots, and the horses themselves, are designed to reflect each district. District 1's chariot for example, is white studded with jewels. I might be biased, but I think ours is the best.

It's light blue with green designs around the edges. The top and bottom rims are studded with pure white pears, as are the harnesses of our two, pure white horses.

"Wow." I say.

Other tributes have already arrived. Pisces heads off towards the District 2 chariot and I find myself drifting towards District 10's boy who is standing alone, stroking the horse. He is dressed as a farmer, old overalls and straw hat included. District 10, livestock. He is different in person than on screen. I realize how…young he really looks.

"That was very noble." I say quietly.

He jumps and whirls around. His eyes widen in horror when he recognizes me.

"Relax," I tell him. "I'm not here to antagonize you. I have a little brother of my own, you know."

His stares.

"Skyler, that was very brave of you. Shon would've died at the Cornucopia."

"Well, I'm going to die, too, so what does it matter?" Skyler whispers. "Please leave me alone." Then he winces as if he fears an outburst.

I nod. "Remember to smile and wave."

Skyler smiles a bit then turns his attention back to the horse. I really would like to say more to this boy, but I know that I'll look weak and I while I wouldn't mind getting to know him, I don't want to be his friend. He has to die. I wave once, I'm not sure if he sees, then I head over to District 11. Both tributes are by the chariot and they freeze when I approach.

They're dressed as food, I think. The girl is in a pretty yellow dress with green leaves that stretch up from the hem of her dress to the top and her single arm pokes out of a single armhole. Like a corn husk. The male is dressed as an apple, I think. He has a round apple-shaped costume on and red leggings below it. On the top of his head is a red hat with a brown stem and a green leaf. I burst out laughing. The boy lowers his head but the girl glares reproachfully at me. I stop laughing and raise my eyebrows. She stares back at me and despite her defiance there is fear behind her eyes. She swallows.

I blurt out before I can stop myself. "How do you work in the fields and orchards with one arm?"

She smiles. "Very carefully." I can't help it. I laugh again. "How do you work on the boats if you're so lanky?" She asks. I'm about to tell her, but her partner suddenly looks very afraid.

"One is coming for you."

I turn around to see Jules Merk sauntering towards us. His stance is casual, but his face is hard. His costume, as far as I can see, is a full spectrum of transparent jewels sewn into a skintight unitard and his bare skin has sparkles all over it. District 1, luxury items, specifically jewels.

"Dylan, I came to see where you wandered off to." He says as he reaches us.

My blood boils and I almost can't resist the urge to slap him. "It's nice to meet you, too, Jules. Thanks for caring. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

He scowls and the duo behind me laughs. One look from Jules has them checking themselves. Maybe my easy attitude has given the wrong impression about this year's Careers. They'd better rethink that quickly.

"The agricultural district, Dylan?" Jules asks as we're walking to the cluster of Career tributes.

"Don't speak to me that way, _Jules_." I stop in my tracks and he turns to face me, stunned. "At least they don't walk around like they own Panem. You're just as much a tribute as they are."

The tributes near us laugh quietly. District 8. Garret and Ellery quickly fall silent and look away.

"Something funny?" Jules asks evenly.

They don't respond.

Jules walks closer and Ellery presses herself against Garret's side. They're both dressed in elegant, flowing, multicolored robes, probably symbolizing all the textiles their district produces.

"Hiding behind your big protector, girl?" Jules sneers. "He won't save you in the arena. I'll make sure of it."

Ellery's lip quivers and the poor thing looks ready to cry. Garret pushes her behind him and steps towards Jules with his hands balled into fists. "Leave her alone."

"You seem to have a soft spot for girls." Jules grins wickedly. "Speaking of girls, I wonder how your girlfriend will react when she watches me kill you."

Garret's face turns red out of anger almost instantly, but he doesn't take the bait. Smart guy. "Leave. Her. Alone." He repeats firmly.

Jules smirks. "Or what?"

"Just come on, big boy." I tug on Jules's arm. Garret has already marked himself as a target of Jules's rage. I barely know either of these boys, but I'm sure Jules's particular attention is something Garret doesn't want. Ellery, too, is at risk for a painful death. Jules seems like the type of boy who'll punish someone by making another suffer. "The factory district isn't worth it."

He smirks a bit and surveys the mismatched tributes again. "Obviously."

He holds out his arm. I loop mine through his and we march away. I wouldn't mind stabbing this arrogant boy, but I'll have to wait. _Patience, Dylan_.

By now, all the tributes have arrived. I'm introduced to the other three members of our alliance. Jules is the complete opposite of his partner. While he is arrogant and fair-hared, Silk is rather kind and has jet-black hair. They have the same emerald green eyes, though, like most in their district. District 2's tributes, Arno, and Leona, aren't that bad. Their hair is similar, Arno's is brown and Leona's is mousy, and their eyes are dark brown. Leona is every bit the seductress that she appears to be. She keeps batting her eyelashes at Pisces who seems very uncomfortable with it. Arno isn't the brute I'd thought he'd be. He's…kind. I'll give him that. He greets me politely, unaware that I've marked him as one of my kills. But, he probably has marked me, too, so it doesn't matter. Right now, we'll all be friends. We need friends in the days before the arena. We need to keep our sanity.

"Not too bad," Leona says. She, like her partner, is wearing the jumpsuit that resembles the surface of stone. District 2, rocks and quarries.

"You're not bad yourself." I tell her. Leona flashes a dashing smile.

"And you look stunning." Silk says. "I wish my stylist was more original. I mean rainbow jewels? Couldn't he be more creative?"

Leona and I laugh. "Totally," Leona agrees. "But I look sexy," she turns to Pisces. "Don't you think?"

A faint blush is creeping up under Pisces' makeup. "Um…yeah."

Leona smiles.

Oh Poseidon help me, I'm gonna puke.

Six stylists including Daemon and Alaina come over and guide us towards our chariots. I protest when Pisces pushes past me and climbs into the chariot. I have half a mind to give him what for, but when he leans down and offers me his hand that notion goes out the door. He smiles as I take it and he helps me into the carriage.

"Ok, you two." Daemon claps his hands quickly. "Remember, the crowd loves you already! Smile, wave, make them adore you!"

_No kidding._ I think, but I smile and thank him for the advice.

I yelp when tremendous cheering suddenly hits our ears. Pisces' hand on my shoulder calms me down and he points to the doors that have just opened in front of us. I smile and sigh. Alaina hops onto the chariot real quick to straighten our outfits and move my hair just right. She barely hops off in time. The horses pulling our carriage start forward the moment her feet touch the ground.

These horses are so well trained that no one even has to guide them. I trust them.

District 1 heads out the door and the cheering grows louder. District 1, luxury items. Always crowd favorites. The volume doesn't change as District 2 rolls out, it dies somewhat though, when the geeky duo from 3 emerges, but it is no way quiet. District 3, however weak their tributes usually are, produces important tech stuff for the Capitol. Then we round the corner and we're out of the Remake Center and in the streets of the Capitol.

The noise increases drastically and it stuns me for a second. But then after a breathless laugh of surprise, I'm smiling and waving and the hundreds of citizens that line the streets and the windows. They scream and wave, blowing kisses and throwing flowers. Some people call out to us, some chant our names. Some keep chanting for our predecessors and those behind us. I look down into the crowd, smiling broadly. There, in the front, held back by the rail, is the little girl with the neon eyes who'd run beside the train. Clutched in her hand is a wooden flute. She waves it over her head. I wave back, smiling. Her face saddens a bit as we roll past her. I wonder if she'd intended on throwing the object.

We arrive in the City Circle and the carriages stop. Though twilight is quickly stretching into night, the city is as bright as day. Only the darkening sky betrays the actual time. How do these people sleep with lights shining in from all around? In District 4 all unnecessary outside lights go off at a certain time so people can get sleep for the working day ahead. Sometimes—as in maybe once a month—the power will go out, but never for long. The power never goes out here. I wonder if these people even know what true darkness really is. Or silence.

The anthem blares over the speakers as all the carriages slow to a stop. The president appears on the balcony and begins his welcoming speech. On the screens, I see that the cameras are mostly on him, but every so often they flick to the carriages. I realize I haven't been paying attention when the anthem blares over the speakers again and we begin the final leg of our journey into the Training Center. For twenty-three of us on the carriages, it is the last time we'll be outside of the Center. Except, of course, for the arena itself. But, then again, who knows if the arenas really are outdoors at all?

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**I had so much fun writing the interactions between Pisces and Dylan. *sigh***

**Anywho. Review/fav/tell you friends. :)  
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	6. Training

**Here's part six :) Pay attention everybody, you'll be introduced to an important character this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of the cannon Hunger Games characters/ideas/plot. I _do_ own all of the characters not directly mentioned in the Hunger Games trilogy and Dylan's story plot. NO TAKEY.  
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When we arrive, Pisces helps me down and we're greeted by our ecstatic prep teams then whisked upstairs on fast, clear glass elevators to the fourth floor. Tina escorts me to my room and leaves me to my own devices. The room is grander than my room on the train in every way and it makes my room back home seem like something that belongs in District 11.

I head into the bathroom to scrub all the makeup off and find the strangest looking tub I've ever seen. There's a panel with over a hundred buttons to press. Each controls something–

the temperature, water pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, bath salts, and more. I would never have time to try them all. Once I get out of the shower a blast of hot air dries me instantly and I simply have to place my hand on a block and it sends a current through my hair, ridding it of knots and tangles and drying it. It falls in silky waves around my shoulders.

I took a small nap until I'm called to dinner. All the talk is about our costumes. Alaina isn't hesitant to admit that we weren't the most spectacular tributes, but we made a big enough impression. Daemon grumbles about District 12 and District 11 catching a few eyes. Reno reassures them that once the training scores came out those districts will be slummed again.

After dinner we head into the lounge and watch the recap of the Ceremonies. I can see what Alaina meant. District 1 glittered, District 2 shined. We didn't glow or gleam like our allies, we shimmered. The lights reflected off our "scales" and gave the impression that we were giving off rainbows. Very few of the other districts made a big impression. District 7's trees looked a bit shiny… and, of course, District 12 had a dark mystery about them.

When the show is over Pisces and I are sent to bed. I pull on a silky yellow nightshirt and matching pants then dive into the bed.

I wake up on time, shower, and dress in a light blue shirt and black pants. I pull my hair up firmly then went down to the dining room. Finnick tells me to help myself to the buffet of breakfast food. I smile when I recognized Drop standing beside it.

He smiles at me just briefly then pretends to ignore me again.

I pile doughnuts, sausage, hotcakes, eggs, and fruit onto my plate then sit down. Finnick and I sit alone in the dining room. I nibble on a chocolate covered doughnut and he's spooning fruit into his mouth.

"You're up early," he notes quietly.

"So are you." I reply.

He smiles. "Let me guess, you're brain is still hardwired?"

I nod. "Yours is, too."

"Yeah," he agrees then he laughs. "That'll change after the arena, Dylan."

"It didn't for you."

"It did. I just relearned."

The door opens and Pisces walks in. He has on a dark brown shirt and black pants. He looks surprised to see us already sitting there. He gives Drop a friendly nod then piles food onto his plate. He takes a seat next to me and sighs. Marrian and Reno join us about fifteen minutes later. Neither of them seems surprised to find us already seated. Beril and Zaire don't show, but Mags comes in, smiling brightly. Tina Sheen comes five minutes after her and blinks rapidly when she sees us.

"Well, everyone's up very early." She says.

"The boats have to get out to sea by dawn, Tina." Marrian says. "These two are used to rising early."

"Ah, quite right." Tina gets her food quickly then sits at the table. "Now, I've been talking to my friends and I've got the message going through the ol' grapevine. I've got at least ten sponsors for you on my own. I need you others helping any way you can. Go talk to your old sponsors."

Reno looks at Pisces and me. "Ok, so down to business. Do you two want to be coached separately or together?"

"Well, we've been training together since we were ten." I say. "I've got nothing up my sleeves that this guy doesn't know about." I poke Pisces. "So, I'm all for being together."

Pisces nods. "Ditto."

"Alright, then." Marrian says. "So be it."

"Remember; don't show off too much down there." Reno points his fork at us. "But make the other tributes know you are dangerous. Pisces, I want to you to practice your aim. Dylan, if memory serves me correctly, you need hand-to-hand practice and sword, mace, and axe work. I want you at those stations. And survival stations, too. You can practice your strengths, but work on your weaknesses, too. Save all the major showing off for the Gamemakers."

"Yes sir," I mumble.

Well drat. I wanted to go practice archery and knife-throwing, but I guess he's right. I need the practice elsewhere.

After breakfast, Pisces and I are given a while to relax then Tina is back and ushering us to the elevators. I barely catch what she's telling me. Pisces must have, though, because he knows which button to push. The glass elevator zooms down the shaft and all too soon we are at the bottom. The doors open to reveal a large, well equipped gym.

We walk out and I can't keep from gawking. This place is much bigger than any room in our training center. Everywhere there are weapons and tools and people to instruct us how to use them. For some, these lessons will get them through the first night. I want to run to the archery station and start shooting some dummies, or slice some dummies in every kill-spot, just to show off, but I restrain myself.

We aren't the first ones down, but we aren't the last. Districts 12, 9, and 5 are already down there. We are the only Careers.

"Hello," I say cheerfully before I can stop myself. All six eyes widen in surprise. I'm sure Pisces is surprised too.

"I really liked your costume, Hara." I walk ahead of Pisces and stop in front of the coal district girl. She knows I'm up to something, I can see it in the way she cautiously regards me, but I'm all smiles. "I mean, I was shocked when I saw you on the television!"

You could hear a pin drop on the other side of the room. The blonde girl blinks rapidly and she finally stammers out a thank you.

"And you," I turn to her district partner. "What's your name?"

Dark-hared and dark-eyed, the boy looks very young for his age. He swallows nervously. "C-carson."

"Carson, eh?" I tilt my head pretending to study him. Then I turn my curious look on all the other tributes. "Awful small specimens we have here, Pisces."

Pisces catches on to my taunting really quickly. "Yeah. Look at this runt." He pokes District 9's female. She jumps back in alarm and her cousin moves in front of her protectively.

"Shut up!" the boy snaps. Pisces stares.

"Now, now, let's not fight!" Clad in a gold tunic that makes her black hair shine, Silk Kister and Jules Merk are coming off the elevator. Unlike Jules, Silk has turned out to be quite nice. She and Leona both.

"Come on, Dylan, don't be mean." She scolds like an older sibling.

"I'm not being mean." I say indignantly. "I'm just saying they're all scrawny."

Silk examines them. "Yes, they are. But don't bother with them. They'll be dead on the first day."

Well, she's nice to me, anyway.

I shrug. Just then, Leona and Arno arrive and we drift off into our group as the other tributes file in. Unlike us, most of them keep their distances from each other. A man comes around and pins our district numbers to our backs. Then the woman named Atala calls us to attention. She reads the rules about training—we have instructors to help us and we're not allowed to fight with another tribute, stuff like that—the list of the different stations, and the time for lunch. Then she tells us to have fun.

Pisces pats me on the back. "I say…we go to one weapon station each then meet over at the plants station."

I nod. "Good plan."

He heads towards the knife station and I make my way over to the assortment of swords. But I automatically switch course when I see a set of tridents. I know this weapon is one Reno would've wanted me to wait for, but they're like swords…sort of. The trainer sees me coming and smiles knowingly.

"Hello, District 4!" he says.

"Hello, trident trainer." I say evenly.

"Nathaniel."

"Dylan."

He smiles again. I run my fingers along the trident's split then pick it up, holding at arms length. I smile.

"I take it you need no instruction, Dylan?" It isn't actually a question. I nod. "Well, then let's see what you can do!"

I nod again and twirl the weapon in my hands then face the practice dummies. I reel back then throw the trident. It skewers the dummy's chest perfectly. Nathaniel runs to retrieve it and brings it back promptly. He gushes out compliments then suggests I try with a sparring partner. I nod, more than eager to agree. I finish off the man with quickly and with ease; others are called out.

Two men and a woman, all armed and all wearing armor, wait in front of me. I raise the trident in a defensive position and wait. Realizing I have no intention to attack, the first man charges. I duck to avoid his blow and as I'm coming back up I swing the trident around and it hits him in the back. He stumbles forward. I jam the trident against his armor. Knowing he's defeated, the man walks out of the ring. I'm not even all the way turned around when the other two are upon me together.

The woman nails me on the head with the butt and I fall over. My ears are ringing and the world is spinning, but I stand up and swing. Our tridents clash and I duck to avoid a swing from the male. He swings again and I jump back. Part of his pole hits me, but his fork catches on his partner's. I bring the weapon around and bang them both in the armor. The fight is over. I win.

Nathaniel claps. "Oh, bravo! Bravo!"

I give a small bow. From the knife station, Pisces and Leona clap. That little show brings most of the attention in the gym to me. There is little more I can do here, so I thank Nathaniel, set the trident down and head off to the plants station.

The trainer greets me politely and motions for me to sit down with the other two tributes who are currently there, the boy from Six and the girl from Three. Liam and Whisp. They look terrified at my presence so I sit a few feet from them.

She hands me a tray full of plants and a slip of paper. I'm told to write down their names and what they're used for and if they're edible or not. Plants aren't my best subject, but I get most of them right. So while Pisces is filling out his test, I have her teach me what I didn't already know. Apparently yarrow leaves, when chewed into a pulp, are good for drawing poison out of a wound. Tansy is good for coughs and honey, if you can find some, it's good for sore throats. And for making a plain slice of bread into a delicacy.

Pisces had a little more training than I have so he does better on the test. Then another girl joins us. I don't remember which district she's from. I watch as her pen flies across the sheet, scribbling down names and more facts about the plants than any of us. Her eyes, green as the leaves of trees, are bright and swimming with knowledge, and her hair as brown as ripe bark, is pulled up in a loose ponytail. I look down at the sheet and where we are supposed to put our district number, I see _7 _printed in beautiful script. Of course. District 7, lumber. Trees and nature. She's grown up with this stuff.

She hands the trainer her paper and waits as the woman's eyes scan the work, widening with every line until I'm sure they will bug out of her head.

"Well…well…" she murmurs. "Well…this is very good, Sawyer."

Sawyer blushes.

"Yes, very good!" she beams down at her new favorite student.

Sawyer smiles bashfully. "Thanks." Her voice, I expect it to be firm from years of hardship, but it is gentle. Kind.

But then her smile vanishes when she realizes Whisp, Liam, Pisces and I are watching her. Beside me, Pisces is fuming. Sawyer lowers her eyes and swallows nervously. I elbow Pisces in the ribs. I glance up at Sawyer and my eyes flash toward the knot station. Surprise flickers in her eyes before it's gone.

I stand up and walk away. I can feel Pisces watching me. I turn and when he sees me looking he heads for the archery station. The knot tying trainer seems delighted when I make my way over to him. Knot tying is a particular specialty of mine, but I need to learn snares and more complex traps. Nets can only do so much.

"Ah, I rarely get a District 4 tribute." He tells me. "Well, do sit down and show me what you know."

He gives me several yards of rope and I start to make a net. As I'm working, I sense someone behind me and sure enough, Sawyer sits down a few seconds later. The trainer greets her and tells her to show her skills. My eyes flick from my work to hers every so often. Her fingers are nimble and swift, but mine are faster. I've spent my whole life tying knots. My net is finished before her simple snare. The trainer examines our work, nodding with approval.

"Yes, well done Dylan." He says. "You work on boats, yes?"

I nod. "Yessir. I make the nets and dive down to set them and the other fish traps."

He smiles. "An advanced student, eh? Yes, all the ones from your district usually are. Sawyer, what is it that you do in your industry, hmm?"

Sawyer looks proud. "When a tree falls some of the branches smash and they're not good for anything but kindling. So, the light and lithe, mostly us kids, are usually given the job of climbing up and hacking off the branches on the side the tree will fall. That's what I do. We also climb up and flag trees, check to make sure the wood isn't rotten, and catch food up there. My grandpa taught me to make snares for the squirrels and other things that live in the trees."

The trainer smiles. "Well, I want you each to try a noose now."

At the word noose, Sawyer shudders. I try to ignore her, and the trainer, and I work the rope into a decent noose in within two minutes. Sawyer's eyes widen in horror when I hold it up. Noticing this, the trainer quickly unties it. He abandons the concept and demonstrates a complex trap that will leave the victim strung up by their ankle. Once he's done, he tells us to try. I decide to talk to her.

"What's with you and nooses?" I ask.

Sawyer shivers again.

"Someone close got hung?" I guess.

She nods. "My…my best friend."

My fingers freeze and I look up in shock. She continues to work but I can see her shaking a bit.

"Four years ago in the Hunger Games." She adds quietly. Her reactions at the reaping—her paralyzing terror—makes sense now. "Not that you'd know anything about that." she goes on bitterly. "Everyone in your district volunteers."

"My sister died in the Hunger Games." I say calmly, starting to work again. "I don't remember it, though."

"But I remember Loku." She says. "And I remember watching the life leave his eyes as he hung. Please, Dylan, don't let me hang!" The pure terror and desperation in her eyes makes my head snap up. "If you have any say in my death, do not let me hang!" She looks away. "I know I can't win." But as she says it, she's finished her snare and the trainer is very pleased. After I turn mine in (I get slightly less praise), he puts two dummy legs into the traps and they snare the legs, hoisting them up onto a pole. We are about to get another snare lesson but we're all called to lunch.

In the room off to the side, there are many tables in the center and there were long carts of food lining the walls. I watch greed and excitement spark in the eyes of the poorer district tribute's eyes. To them, this food would save their families for a year. To us, this amount of food would feed our district for a week. It's nice being from District Four.

I almost ask Sawyer to sit with us at the "Career" table, but I somehow know she will say no. I keep quiet. She falls back when Pisces comes toward me. He smiles kindly at me as he shoves Natin from 3 out of the way and takes his place in line. Natin looks ready to protest, but when I step in beside Pisces he scurries to the end of the line. I load food onto my plate.

Suddenly, I find myself wondering how Sawyer took that little incident. I turn to find her in the line but she's not looking at me. She's focused on the food on the tables and deciding what to pick. She gets food and heads over to a table alone. Once she's there, she glances up, inviting me to join her, but I shake my head and incline my head towards the table where my alliance is gathering. She nods, understanding, then doesn't look at me again.

I keep pretty quiet during lunch, just focusing on getting the food into my stomach and looking at the other tributes. The District 9 cousins and Garret and Ellery from 8 are the only other ones who sit together. The others sit at tables alone, not talking, and only looking up when a loud noise comes from our table. My eyes fall on Sawyer for a moment and I decide to suggest it to my allies.

"Hey guys, there's a girl tribute that might be of some use to us." I say when there's an opening for me to speak. I jerk my head in the general direction of Sawyer's table.

"You mean that girl from 8?" Silk asks.

"Ellery? No. I meant Sawyer, from 7."

"Oh, her," Leona looks at her for a moment then back at me. "Why?"

"She's good with knots and herbs. She impressed the trainers at both stations. After lunch I'm going to see what weapons she can use."

"It's true," Pisces said. "About the plants, I mean. I was there."

"Hmm." Silk looks interested. "Well…maybe…"

"Just tail her, Dylan. Offer her a place in the alliance and see what she says." Leona suggests.

After lunch I seek out Sawyer. She seems surprised that I'm back, but she comes with me to the axe station.

It is clear right off the bat that she is an expert with this tool. She hacks up a dummy in ten seconds flat. Then she hits each of the vital kill points on a different dummy. I have no trouble with the hacking, but I can't seem to hit any of the vital points right. "You're holding it wrong." She tells me and then shifts my hands a bit so the axe is balanced in my hands. I draw back and chop the head off neatly. I end up paying more attention to her than to the trainer.

The whole time with Sawyer is unreal. How have I somehow made a friend while she is in the twilight of her life? She's laughing at my errors as if she's known me my whole life. How, though? I thought tributes like me—the trained tributes—were hated by all not like us.

"Let's go to the knives," I tell her, wanting to get somewhere comfortable to stop my pondering. She smiles and allows me to pull her over to one of my favorite skills.

I completely ignore the trainer and pick up a long, slightly curved dagger. I twirl it lightly in my fingers then let it fly. It hits a dummy square in the heart. Sawyer laughs and says I only brought her here to show off. Well, yeah, kind of. But I wanted to teach her, too. The trainer tries to help, but Sawyer mostly pays attention to me. Within the hour she can hit the target from ten meters away. I don't have the time to get her anywhere near as good as me…nor do I want to.

When we go to the rock climbing station and I see her shoot up the wall like a squirrel I make up my mind. I'd been considering it since I saw her pass the plants test. I don't even really think as I ask her, "Do you want to join the alliance?"

I had expected her to be shocked, but she's actually relatively calm. "I wondered if you were going to ask me."

I raise my eyebrows and again I wonder what's wrong with this girl.

Sawyer smiles a bit. "Why else would any Career tribute bother with a tribute like me?"

"Because you're nice and you have skills I can learn from." I say and she snorts. "It's true, sadly. I can kill a person from eighty meters away but you can set snares better and could survive on plants alone!"

Pride lightens Saywer's face for a moment.

"Think about it, Sawyer." I say quickly. "In the alliance you'll have our support for a while. We won't hunt you. You'll have access to the Cornucopia's supplies and in return you could really help us. Prove that you won't be an easy kill."

She looks thoughtful, but a bit wary.

"At least think about it? I'll talk to the others and tell them how you did. At least one of them will consider you. And you think about it for the rest of the day and tonight. Ask your mentor if you want, but you really should consider joining. All of us could benefit from this." I lower my voice so the trainer doesn't hear us. "A friend of mine heard from the grapevine that this years Games will be exciting. And exciting for the audience—"

"Means hell for us." she finishes flatly.

"Yes."

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Within the other districts, it's considered a disgrace to join you," she tells me. "Everyone hates it that you are trained and prepared and make the choice to go when so many others are forced to. It's bad just associating with you. Joining your lot is a coward's path. Hide behind the big protectors until you can take care of yourself."

That stings, but it's not as if I didn't know it already. "Better a live coward then a dead fool." I say. "That's what they used to tell us in training. You'll have a good chance with us."

Sawyer presses her lips together and looks across the gym. I follow her gaze to the axe station where her district partner is currently sparring with a remote dummy. He is very good with his weapon, dodging the blows and swiping with care. He could be useful…

"Don't bother with Proy." She probably guessed what I was thinking. "He's got the brains of a woodpecker. I'll think about it, Dylan, I really will. Now run along, wolf girl. Go converge with your pack."

The taunt takes me by surprise, but she's right. I need to join them. They've all gathered at the sword fighting station. I smile at her then run across the gym. Jules glares at me.

"Oh, have you decided where your loyalties lie, now?"

"Shut your mouth." I snarl at him. "I'm allowed to go wherever I want."

"What Jules means," Silk breaks in quickly. "Is that you were showing some of your weaknesses to that girl and teaching her your strengths."

"I was trying to figure her out. She'd be a very valuable asset." I say and I immediately have the undivided attention of all five of them. "She has a head for herbs. She impressed the plants trainer. She's good with an axe and fair with a knife. She climbs like a squirrel. If there are trees in the arena she could be a big help. I've offered her a place in the alliance."

"Alright, good." Arno says.

"I told her to think about it then tell us her answer tomorrow."

"Well, until then, how about we stir up some fear?" Jules suggests.

For the next hour and a half I play my role as a Career tribute. A real one. Deadly and swift. I'm not as good as the others, but I still manage to pin my opponent with my sword tip poking his spine. I can feel the eyes of half the gym on us and I know Sawyer's bright green ones are definitely among them. When the boys move on, Leona, Silk, and I stay to practice more. Leona tells me her weapon of choice is a spear. Silk prefers knives and swords, blades of all sorts. I proudly tell them archery and knives.

"Say we try archery?"

I bite my lip. "My mentor said not to."

Silk nods, understanding. "Alright. How about spears, then?"

Hmm. Spears. Probably the easiest weapon to make in the arena—if a tribute needs a weapon, chances are they'll try to make a spear.

I nod. So for the next few hours we practice spearing dummies and targets and chatting away. I really like Leona and Silk now. They're training program is about the same in 1 as it is in 4, but the Age of Admittance is twelve, prior training at school necessary, and the rules are different. They never got to see their families and if they lost a battle they were punished. No one but the designated tribute could volunteer.

Apparently, District 2 is a thousand times more organized. It makes sense since that's the district where they produce and train Peacekeepers. Leona says that kids are assigned from their toddler days based on physical structure, intelligence, personalities, and interests. The best are sent to be trained as Peacekeepers while the rest will work in the industry and various businesses throughout the district. The Peacekeepers are raised separately from the other kids. They live in a specific town; they go to school there, train there, and only leave for practice assignments. The best four students, two male and two female, are selected each year from a group of nine-year-olds and they are trained vigorously. By the time they're sixteen it's down to just one boy and one girl and they spend the next two years in intense training. It's very, very organized and very strict.

It makes me wonder how Leona turned out so _nice_!

"What happens to the other boy and girl?" Silk asks.

Leona gives Silk a long look and, for a moment, the girl from District 1 says nothing. Then her eyebrows go up and she tilts her head. "Really? Why not just send them back to Peacekeeper training?"

"Our district doesn't tolerate losers." Leona says with an almost snooty air. "They lost."

I explain how our training system works and how I ended up here. I was ready to defend myself from any remarks from no-losers-allowed Leona, but she doesn't say anything except, "Well, at least she didn't kill you. I like you."

"You're not so bad yourself." I tease.

Several hours later Pisces and I are back on our floor and we go to our rooms. I get a quick shower, enjoying the warm water that hits my body and the strawberry fragrances of my soaps. Then I change into some loose black pants and a dark green top.

I've discovered this menu on my wall. There are probably a thousand options here. I choose something called ice cream. Chocolate flavor. Then a minute later a table rises up from the floor with a glass bowl with a silver spoon poking of a heaping mound of frothy looking brown stuff. I take the bowl off the table and it goes back into the floor and a door slides closed over it. The bowl is chilled, or maybe it's the ice cream stuff. I pick up the spoon and put a spoonful of the stuff into my mouth.

Delicious is the only word to describe it. Like cold, solid hot chocolate that melts in my mouth and cools my throat as it slides down. I take another bite, and another, and within a minute it's all gone. I head back to the wall and search for the ice cream section again. There are dozens of different flavors. I'm trying them all before I go into the arena if it's the last thing I do!

I order a mint chocolate chip bowl of ice cream and it's just arriving as I'm called to dinner. I'm not about to leave this hear for someone to collect. I take the bowl with me. The adults laugh when they see it but no one tells me to put it down.

Dinner is served—roast beef, baked potatoes, corned beef, mixed vegetables, rolls, and cream of potato soup—and we barely have time to swallow a few bites before we're being hounded by Reno, Marrian, Beril, Zaire, Mags, Tina, and Finnick about training. Where we went, who we were with, who we talked to, our scores, the other tributes, how others regarded us. Huh. Seems Tina can be very serious when she wants to.

Pisces says, "Dylan was hanging with District 7," very lightly, flippantly.

The table gets quiet, then Reno asks which one.

"The female," I say without hesitation. "Her name is Sawyer. She's skilled with an axe, snares, plants, and she's a fast learner. She gave me axe lessons and I gave her knife lessons. She soaked it up like a sponge. I offered her a place in the alliance. The others are pretty ok with it and she'll tell us her answer tomorrow. Trust me, it's a good choice. I spent most of the day studying her."

Reno nods but says nothing else as he eats. Finnick is looking thoughtful and Tina doesn't really look interested anymore. Of course she isn't. She'll never be in the arena. Not like the rest of us. To keep myself from hating her I focus on Marrian who is swallowing a bite of the potato soup. Curious, I take bite and find myself unable to stop until it's all gone. I frown then ask for another. Almost instantly its there. I leave my roast beef and potatoes alone and continue to slurp the soup and take big bites out of the corned beef until Marrian cuts me off reminding me about my ice cream.

So I leave the rest of the food alone, except for when a big chocolate cake is brought in, then I add a slice of that to my plate and dump the remaining mint ice cream on top. I see why they call it mint chocolate chip. The ice cream itself is sweet and minty and there are chocolate chips in it.

I'm almost full and it appears there isn't going to be anything else to be said so I just head back to my room. Then I start my taste testing. I order small bowls of twelve different flavors and a gallon of water. A minute later, a tray of twelve bowls appears on the table plus a huge cup of water and three spoons. I take it off then head down the hall to the elevators.

The roof is the best view of the Capitol a tribute can get, or so they say. That's where I will do my taste testing. The door opens and I'm greeted by a blast of warm, stiff air. I gag and hurry outside of the dome encasing the elevator. There's fresh air filling my lungs now. It's beautiful up here, just as beautiful as everyone has said. I can see the Capitol, stretching on far into the distance every way I look. The sky is dark, but it is illuminated by the never ceasing light of the city below. Again I wonder how these people sleep.

The sound of wind chimes turns my head and I see a garden on the other side. I head over there and sit down among the many leaves and branches of the plants and low hanging trees. Hundreds of wind chimes hang from the trees, dancing and singing in the wind. Beautiful.

I love it here. I really do. Despite being polar opposites, this place reminds me of the ocean. Calm. Peaceful. Now if only I could block out the noises from below. Voices, cars…. I sigh.

I decide to taste the pink ice cream first. Mmm. Strawberries. Then vanilla, chocolate, a combination of all three, vanilla with dough, fruity flavored, some vanilla with caramel, chocolate with hunks of fudge, mint with hunks of fudge… I'm trying out one with pecans inside when I heard a rustle.

There are different types of rustles. Wind blowing leaves rustle. Person walking through rustle. This is a people-walking rustle. I raise my head and search for the unwanted company. I see a mane of mousy hair. Only two districts ever have mousy hair and it's not Leona over there. It's the female from District 6. What's her name…?

She's dressed in what appears to be nightclothes. She's heading for the ledge—there's nothing else over that way. I slowly stand up and slide my shoes off. I creep after her, my bare feet making no noise against the smooth stone roof. She's unaware of my presence. I think she's going to stop at the ledge. She does, but then she leans over and peers down below. Then she pulls herself up on the ledge and inches toward the edge.

_She's going to jump!_

My gasp is lost in the wind. Her family, maybe her entire district will be punished for this. Hell, I'll probably be punished for not stopping her. They're probably monitoring us. Why no one is coming to stop her is beyond me. It's up to me. I walk towards her but I don't make a noise in time.

She launches herself over the edge.

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**o,o oh noes! **

**See? Things are getting more exciting! Three more chapters until the arena :D**

**Review, tell your friends!  
**


	7. Preparing

**I'm _trying_ to audition for the Hunger Games movie-to be one of the tributes (like Clove). Kind of iffy about Lawrence as Katniss, simply because of her looks. But we'll see...**

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The girl from District 6 freezes midair. For a moment, she seems suspended there as a zapping noise reaches my ears, then she's thrown back. With a desperate cry of "No!" she lands hard on her back on the cement. I hear the wind rush out of her. Winded, but determined, she's up on the ledge and throwing herself off again before I can blink, only to be thrown back again. And again. And again.

She doesn't notice me and I'm too shocked to come out of my hiding place to stop her. Enraged, the tribute girl picks up a chair and hurls it at what I'm assuming is a force field designed for this exact reason. She screams wordlessly in frustration and rage then before she can do anything else rash, I launch myself out of the plants and tackle her.

Technically I'm breaking the rules, but I'm pretty sure they'll make an exception here. This tribute wants to die before the arena. That'd really screw everything up for the Capitol. Not that I'd mind that, but there'd be hell to pay. I have her pinned within moments.

She struggles and wails. "No! No! Let me go! No! Just let me die! Please!"

"You'll be dead soon enough." I snarl. "Shut up!"

Whoever she was expecting, it wasn't me. Shocked, she falls limp then slowly turns her head to look up at me. Her eyes search my face then they widen with realization and she mouths my district number. I nod once.

"Now," I ask her very deliberately, "are you going to attempt suicide again?"

She shakes her head.

So I get off her and stand tall. She sits up and hugs her knees to her chest and tears stream down her face. "Come on, kid." She really is only a kid. Probably fourteen at the most; thin and not very well fed, just like most of the other tributes. I yank her up a bit more forcefully than necessary and haul the stumbling girl over to my taste-testing site. She gawks.

I motion for her to sit down, and as she does so, I take one of the spoons I haven't used yet and pile different flavors into a bowl, handing it to her when it's full. She stares down at it then looks up at me. Disbelief and slight suspicion shows on her face.

"It's not poisoned." I sigh and take a bite from one of the bowls to prove it.

She carefully takes the spoon with a shaky hand and puts some ice cream into her mouth. Her eyes light up and she takes more spoonful's. I can't help but smile a bit.

"You should know better, District 6." I tell her. "They're not just going to let us get out the easy way. 'Sides, if you'd succeeded, they would've punished your district, your family…probably me too."

"Why you?" Now that the anger and franticness has left her voice, I can hear the tentative quiver there.

"Because I stood back and watched knowing full well what you were doing and what it would mean." I say. "But you jumped before I could stop you. Scared me for a second, then you totally went insane and freaked me out."

The girl sighs. "I just wanted to decide my own fate and not be murdered. I don't want to be just another player in the Games."

I sigh. Rebellion rang in her words. Rebellion and desire for freedom. This girl would be a great loss to Panem. We need more minds like her, willing to speak out. Or maybe she's only speaking out because she's already set to die and voicing her thoughts now can't doom her anymore than she already is. Still, her spirit is admirable.

"Well…then kill yourself in the arena." I say and roll my eyes.

"That's not what I mean." She sets down her bowl and stares up the sky. "Titus. You know him, right?"

I nod. Who doesn't know Titus, the most recent barbaric tribute? He was from District 6. Around the middle of his Games, he witnessed a pack of muttations (Capitol-designed experiments) slaughter two tiny tributes and he just lost it. He turned savage and ended up eating all those he killed. One of the victims was the male from my district—the coffin wasn't opened for his family. A lot of people think the Gamemakers caused the avalanche that killed him.

"I knew Titus. We lived in the same neighborhood." she says. "I don't want to be like him."

I took another bite of ice cream and swallowed it. "What's your name, kid?"

"Rinn Asher." she says. "You're Dylan Style."

"Syle," I correct. That mistake wasn't uncommon.

She flinches as if she's afraid I'll go off on her. "Sorry."

"It happens a lot."

She relaxes visibly and studies me curiously. "You're different than I thought you'd be." says Rinn Asher. "You're…nice…for a Career."

I smile a little, but I'm one-hundred percent serious. "Well, I'm not like the others, but don't think this means we're friends, Rinn. Just because I'm being nice now doesn't mean you can come crawling to me when you're weak and starving."

She winces, but nods.

"Just so you know where we stand. Don't hang around the Cornucopia unless you want to die fast." I say then take her abandoned bowl back. "It's called ice cream. You can get more from your menu. Now go on back to your floor before you get in trouble."

Rinn stands up and walks away. She pauses then looks back at me. "Thank you, Dylan."

I nod slowly. Then she's gone, the girl from District 6. Back to her floor where her mentors protect her, where she has a comfy bed. She'll cry tonight in her bed. She'll cry herself to sleep, if she sleeps at all.

The next morning in training, I notice right away that Sawyer is avoiding me. I head towards her at the fire making station and she gets up and leaves the moment she sees me coming. I am going to follow her but the trainer sees me and I decide an hour of this could be useful. I can start fires with matches and wood already, so he teaches me to make a fire with flint and other stone. I end up staying an extra half hour.

After that I try to sneak over to the running station while she's got her back to me, but she leaves the moment I arrive. After a few more times of this I'm bored so I decide to just go to archery. I know I shouldn't but, dammit, I want to try out those bows. I don't know if they're like the ones at home and I can't embarrass myself in front of the Gamemakers during my private session. Speaking of the Gamemakers….

There they are up there on a viewing platform that stretches around the gym. Some are walking around, some are observing a tribute below them, and a few are pigging out at a buffet table. I toss my hair over my shoulder so they can see my face. The movement of my bright hair attracts the attention of one Gamemaker nearby. He pauses and observes me. I incline my head towards the archery station.

The trainer, a nice man named Tax, smiles when he sees me. I tell him I'm an expert and he points to a nice, wooden bow. I run my fingers along the perfect feathers of the arrow then I slide the quiver onto my back and load the bow. I take aim and hit the bulls-eye perfectly. Tax keeps moving me back until I miss. 90 meters. He shifts my position, advises where to aim, then tells me to go. The arrow sticks just on the line. I wave Tax off and try again on my own.

I squint a bit and shift the arrow. I pull back and let the arrow go.

It's not a perfect bulls-eye, but it'd kill a person. Or at least wound them so I could deliver a death blow from closer up. Tax claps. "Well done!"

I smile and I know before I glance up that several Gamemakers are watching me. I try to ignore them after that and spend the rest of the morning shooting down targets, dummies, flying discs, and then Tax brings out an assistant who straps a target to his back and sprints off. I'm told to shoot standing still and then again in pursuit.

By the time lunch is called I'm starving and hyper. The other tributes let us get our food first, lest Jules, Arno, and Pisces shove them out again. Well, except for District 9's boy, but Pisces pushes him back and bows to Leona, Silk, and I. "After you, madams."

I sigh but Leona giggles.

When we take our seats Jules is all business. "What did she say, Dylan?"

"She's been avoiding me." I admit. "I haven't had a chance."

"Hmm. Pisces…"

The two of them stand without another word and head to the line. Sawyer is placing a sandwich on her plate when the two boys reach her. "Let me carry that for you." Jules yanks it out of her hands and then he and Pisces loop their arms through hers and march the suddenly terrified girl to our table. The other tributes gawk at us then hurry about their business. I glance over at the table where Proy, Sawyer's partner, is sitting and glaring.

Pisces practically shoves Sawyer into her seat and Jules puts her plate in front of her. I frown at the boys. "Knock it off."

"Relax Dylan," Jules says as he sits again. "We just wanted to make sure she got here _safely_."

"T-thank you," Sawyer murmurs and we start to eat in silence. Jules clearly wants to torment her, and Pisces and Arno aren't stopping him. The suspense must be killing this poor girl so I decide to just ask.

"Have you decided?"

Sawyer looks up and swallows. "I asked my mentors at dinner. Ulf about turned the table over and Blight looked ready to slaughter me. Proy's probably giving us hateful looks."

I glance up, "Yup."

Silk leans forward and Sawyer smiles a bit.

"I told them I wouldn't say yes, but I've decided to accept your offer." She sits up straight, all traces of fear gone.

"Hmm." Arno nods. "Welcome to the alliance, then. Betray us and you will meet your death before you can regret your decision."

Sawyer nods, a little shakily. "So, my previous strategy was to lay low and not bring attention to myself. Now what am I supposed to do?"

"Show off," Leona says. "Make it clear you don't fear the others."

"Practice your weaknesses and show off your skills." Arno says.

"Use your axe skills. A lot." Silk adds.

"Or," Pisces says. "Continue your strategy so no one suspects you're one of us till we're in the arena."

Sawyer frowns. "Which do I do?"

"It's up to you," Arno tells her. "But if you want to make it seem as if you've rejected us, get up and leave now."

"I think I'll do that and then the showing off will seem like me telling y'all that I'm not scared of you." Sawyer grins mischievously. "No one will suspect I'm one of you. Think of how that will help at the Cornucopia."

Silk leans forward with honey-sweet smile on her face. "Listen, I know what to do. Sawyer, lean forward and pretend to whisper." Sawyer looks confused, but she does so. "Arno, Jules, Dylan, now you guys look very mad."

I'm not sure what she's planning but I scowl at Sawyer.

"Leona, Pisces, look surprised." She and the others look surprised. "Now everyone look mad."

"What are you doing?" Sawyer whispers.

"Helping you," she hisses, looking deadly. "Now stand up and lean forward like you're giving us a piece of your mind."

Sawyer takes a deep breath than jumps up and leans forward and moves her mouth like she's talking angrily to us. I react without being told. I stand up and slam my palms on the table. Heads snap up all around the room.

"Well, _fine!_" I snarl. "If that's how you want it!"

"It is!" Sawyer snaps just as loud. She picks up her tray and marches over to the table where Proy sits alone and plops down beside him then gave us a sneering look. Every tribute gawks at us, the Avoxes too.

I sit down and try to suppress my smirking.

"Nice touch," Silk says quietly. "Now, let's show we're unfazed by her outburst. Jules, look amused and say something and everyone laugh."

Jules leans forward with a devious grin and whispers, "Let's all kill President Snow."

The laugh that bursts from my lips is real. The audacity of his words, however soft, is amusing. The other tributes have lost interest or don't want to be caught looking so we can drop our acting and we resume normal conversation.

Sawyer avoids us for the rest of the day and Proy never leaves her side, but that's ok. I stay away from archery and try to work with some of my more rusty skills. At night Pisces and I get interrogated then sent to bed after dinner. I don't complain. The next morning I try to visit the stations I haven't been to and I go back for quick, last-minute sword and axe lessons. During lunch we discuss our plans for the initial battle at the Cornucopia in hushed voices. There's no way we can call Sawyer over without anyone getting suspicious so Leona decides to figure a way to slip a message to our District 7 ally.

Jules and Silk have barely finished eating when Jules is called in. He smirks and saunters through the door. Fifteen minutes later Silk is called in, then Arno, Leona, then Natin and Whisp from 3, then Pisces. And when he's been gone for five minutes, I begin to feel like a bug under a microscope. All the other tributes are watching me. I can't seem weak in any way at all. So I lean back in my chair and hum a tune as I trace patters on the table top.

Sawyer, Rinn, Hara, Garret, Ellery—they're all watching me. I look up. Hara blanches and looks away. Ellery lowers her head and pretends to sleep. Rinn gives me a shy smile then turns to talk to her partner. Sawyer gives me an icy look that I return. She winks once. Garret is regarding me almost coldly. Jeez, what did I do to him?

"Dylan Syle!"

I hop up, relieved, and walk into the training room. I glance down at Sawyer as I pass. She winks again and I see Rinn Asher watching me carefully. The door is closed behind me and I make my way to the center of the gym. The Gamemakers look somewhat expectant. I give them a respectful bow then I make my way over to the plants station.

There's a surprised murmur as I separate them into edible and non edible. Several of them lean over to look. Then I arrange them into medical and nonmedical and explain a few of the medical ones. Then I go get some rope and make a noose in two minutes then string up a dummy. I figure I've got about six minutes left so I head to the weapons. I throw knives at targets from 90 meters away, hitting the bulls-eye each time, then I show off my archery skills. When I set the bow and quiver on the table I hear appreciative murmuring.

"Anything else, Miss Syle?" a woman asks.

I head to the tridents and proceed to show off my district's best weapon. Swipe, draw back, jab, spin, twirl, jam, stab, I demonstrate some basic moves then hack up the dummy I'd hung. I finish with a nice flourish of my weapon that butchers one of the sandbags hanging from the wall then toss it back onto the table.

"Thank you, Miss Syle." The most extravagantly dressed man says. "You may go."

I bow again and head for the elevators. The Avoxes/elevator guards stare at me as I pass. I press four and by the time I reach my floor I can barely contain my joy. I practically skip into the sitting room.

"I take it went well?" Marrian raises an eyebrow and I nod eagerly.

"What did you do?" Alaina is there, too, and so is Daemon. A few of the victors that aren't mentors lounge in the room, too. There's Zaire and Beril by the window. Our oldest living victor, Mags, is talking with Finnick on the other side of the room. From the looks of things, Pisces and Daemon have been having a conversation before my arrival.

"Oh, showed off." I sit flop down on the couch and land my feet on Pisces' lap. He pushes them off and I sit up. "I think I had them worried at first when I went to plants. I showed off my herb skills, then I made a noose and hung a dummy, I shot some arrows, threw some knives and demonstrated my moves with a trident."

"Good." Beril praises, looking away from Zaire to throw me a smile.

I turn to Pisces. "And you?"

He shrugs. "Fought some guys with a sword, hacked up some dummies with an axe, broke a punching bag with a mace, and used the trident."

"You'll at least get an eight." Alaina says matter-of-factly. Then she smiles. "Oh, Dylan, your token got approved! I have it somewhere safe, don't worry."

I smile and a tight feeling I hadn't noticed before left my chest. Rilee.

Pisces and I get the afternoon to relax while the other tributes are still downstairs getting their time with the Gamemakers. I change into a nice lavender summer dress and put black leggings under it. I slip sandals on my feet and get another dozen small ice cream samples, water, a book and head to the roof. I love the sunlight.

I've been stuck inside for far too long. The fresh air feels like cool water on a hot day. I lay out in the garden, slurping different ice cream flavors and starting looking at the interesting book. Ok, not _interesting_ exactly, but it's new to me—a book of children's tales from all across Panem. Nursery rhymes, really. The district, sometimes districts, of origin is listed under each rhyme. Oddly enough, I don't know all of them listed for my district.

The one Evan sang out on the reaping day,

_One little fishy fish_

_Two little fishy fish_

_There are three _

_Little fishy fish_

_In the sea!_

Is listed as _Counting the Fish._ We call it _Fishy Fish_. It's used mostly to teach toddlers to count. But there are others, like _My Bonnie Lies Over the Sea_ that I've never heard in my life!

_My Bonnie lies over the ocean,_  
_My Bonnie lies over the sea._  
_My Bonnie lies over the ocean,_  
_Please bring back my Bonnie to me._

Huh…that makes about as much sense as that carrot flavored ice cream I'm still trying to wash down.

I decide to look at the other districts. There's some pretty weird ones in here. District 3 has one about a mouse running up a clock, District 10 has one about black sheep and a cow jumping over the moon. District 7 has one about twinkling stars.

A loud laugh echoes through the air and I practically jump out of my skin.

I look around and see no one. It probably came from below. Still, I am little paranoid now. I stow my book and ice cream under a bush then do a thorough sweep of the roof. If someone else is up here then I want to know. The sun is at an angle that keeps my shadow behind me so that helps and the wind chimes mask my footsteps. When I step out of the garden I feel suddenly exposed and open. This is perfect training for the Games. Chances are that if there's even a wood, it won't cover the whole arena. I creep along, keeping low to the ground. I slowly circle the dome.

There…over there. There are some tables and chairs. The two tributes from 5 are sitting alone, looking over the city, talking quietly. I think the male is called Brit. I've already socialized with too many of my competitors. I can't risk getting to know any more. I walk behind them as quietly as I can. I try not to, but I pick up some of their conversation.

"—and I've finished my letters." The female is saying.

"You've really given up, haven't you?" Brit asks.

She nods and says nothing else.

I hurry away. Except for them, no one else is on the roof. So, I feel quite secluded when I sit down and resume my taste testing in the garden.

Finnick comes up to collect me sometime later for dinner. Roast duck, assorted vegetables, rolls both Capitol-made and ones from my district, steak, fruit, and an assortment of pies. For once I completely ignore the Capitol ones and chow down on the salty tasting bread, wishing I had some shellfish. So I look up at the nearest Avox.

"May I have some shellfish?"

It's a woman, probably Marrian's age, with blonde hair. She nods then hurries away to what I assume is the kitchen. I don't know for sure, though. I'm not allowed to go through that door. She comes back with a plate of shellfish a few minutes later. Pisces moves to the empty chair beside me with a few rolls of his own and we share our treat.

Then I start to devour the duck, secretly wishing I could have some roasted seagull instead(don't knock it till you try it!) It tastes a lot like this duck, but has an extra tang that's defiantly…ocean-y. Still, food is food and I'm not complaining as long as I get to eat my fill in the Capitol.

"So, did you enjoy your time on the roof?" Marrian asks me.

I nod.

After dinner, Tina ushers us into the sitting room and turns on the television. Other victors of ours come in to watch, but most of them are out wherever it is they go while in the Capitol. Once again I'm sandwiched between Pisces and Finnick. The program is just starting. First they show an announcer wishing us a _Happy Hunger Games_ (Pisces tells the guy to fuck off and Tina turns red as a rose), then they cut straight to the scores. A one is the absolute worst score you can get and a twelve is damn near impossible to get. A big fat 9 flashes under Jules' picture. Silk scores a 10. Arno, unsurprisingly, gets a 10. Leona gets a 9. District 3's tributes get 5s. Then Pisces' picture shows up. A big 9 flashes up.

Tina squeals. Reno and Finnick thump him on the back. Marrian gives him a high five and I hug him.

My picture replaces Pisces' and 10 flashes up beneath it.

I freeze, still half-hugging Pisces, mouth hanging open in shock. Tina's squealing, Pisces pulls me back into a hug, Marrian's hugging the both of us, and I'm being thumped on the back. 10! 10! Yeah! In your face Jules_,_Arno, Silk!. I topped them!

I lean forward and shout at the floor. "You see that, Jules? You got beat by _two_ girls!"

Everyone laughs and I'm still feeling giddy as I watch the numbers flash by. Mostly, I ignore them. They're all low or medium. Rinn gets a 5 and Sawyer pulls a 7. Ellery, unsurprisingly, gets a 4. Garret scrapes a 7. The cousins from 9 pull sixes. Skyler gets a 4. And, of course, 11 and 12 score very low. Hara actually gets a 6.

I was one of the highest scoring females. I jump up and do a back flip.

"Someone's excited." Finnick teases.

I nod.

"Well, you need your sleep." Marrian said then Tina hops up.

"Big day tomorrow. Big day! Off you go, now!"

Tina's "busy day" consists of preparations for the interviews. Tina has me awake bright and early and she instructs me to get dressed and get to breakfast quickly. Or else.

So I hurry and get a shower, dress in a loose green outfit, then trudge down to breakfast. I'm the last to arrive. I pile doughnuts, sausage, bacon, a cinnamon roll, eggs, and fruit onto my plate then take my seat next to Pisces. I start eating immediately and between bites, in a very unladylike manner, I ask, "So, how's…today…going down?"

Tina clears her throat. "Finnick and I will be coaching you on _etiquette_ and presentation and Reno, Beril, and Marrian will help you decide what angle to play during the interview."

Swell.

"Together or separately?" Pisces asks.

"Separately." Marrian says. "It's easier. Dylan, you're coming with us first. We have you for four hours then we break for lunch. Then you'll go with Finnick and Tina for etiquette."

Oh Poseidon help me.

But I don't say that out loud. I plaster a smile to my face then go back to eating as quickly as possible. No sooner am I swallowing my last swig of orange juice then Marrian hauls into the sitting room where Beril waits, her short dark hair unusually wavy. They sit me down in the loveseat then they sit together on the couch, studying me critically. They talk, but mostly to themselves. I feel like a piece of meat that they're deciding how to prepare.

"She's no good at sexy," Marrian murmurs. "And charming would be a lost cause."

"Hmm, and humble is out of the question." Beril shoots me a quick smirk.

"Not mysterious, not vulnerable, scared, distraught…not funny, well…she's got wit—"

"Yes…" Reno agrees.

"But not good for her. Ferocious, perhaps?"

"Hmm…yes, or hostile?" Beril adds.

"No, not hostile." Reno shakes his head.

"Agreed. That would be bad. Determined, devoted?" Marrian frowns thoughtfully.

"Um, I'm right here." I remind them tersely.

They ignore me and continue muttering to themselves. Finally I stamp my foot and jump up. "Well, I'm leaving now."

"Sit. Down." Marrian snaps.

I sit, feeling rather small.

"We're trying to help you here. Be patient." Reno orders.

I glare.

"Fine!" He takes some note cards off the table. "We'll start with witty first. Answer everything as a witty person."

I try and after ten questions, that angle is gone for good. So then we move on to excited. That one never works. Ever.

"Oh yes I am simply thrilled to be here." I squeal after Reno asks me how I feel about being a tribute. I even stand up and bounce once. "It's so great knowing that I'm about to go kill other kids so I can be crowned victor and go home!"

Then I scowl and put my hands on my hips.

"Well…" Marrian clears her throat, then she laughs. "Okay, moving on! Try being snappish this time."

I sit back down and nod for Reno to ask away.

"What do you enjoy doing?"

"Fighting," I snap. "Swimming, diving, and reading. Not that you care."

This one shows some promise. And after twenty questions we're defiantly considering that one, plus fierceness. Shy doesn't work at all. I'm not sure why they even tried that. Innocent is the same. But I think they're just trying every angle possible. I can't gush at all. I can be very aloof if I try, apparently. I'm not nice enough to be perfectly likeable.

"But she's too curt." Marrian says. "She needs something to appeal to the softer citizens."

"Remember the shark thing?"

I nod.

Reno smiles, "Perfect. You'll be somewhat likeable but ferociously determined. I want you to be fierce and dogged about the task ahead, but show that compassionate side you have hidden in there. Let them know you love your family and you can't wait to go home and see your loved ones again. They're already so proud of you and you don't want to let them, or your district, down. Got it?"

"I think so."

"What will be your strategy in the Games?" Marrian reads.

By the time lunch comes I'm feeling quite good about myself and I skip to the dining room to be faced with a grumpy looking Pisces, an annoyed Tina, and an amused Finnick.

"They're evil, Dylan." Pisces warns me.

I'm suddenly not looking forward to my presentation session. But there's no way around it and after lunch I'm led into my room. Finnick has been instructed to wait outside while Tina gets me in a dress. I don't really have a problem with dresses in general, granted they're annoying and inconvenient for the trainees and impossible for a fisherwoman to wear while working, but this dress was a nightmare.

It is too long and too tight and the heels she put on my feet are probably three inches off the ground. I hobble around in them and as Finnick opens the door I stumble and fall. Spitting out curses that leave Tina beet red, I heave myself off the ground and end up falling again. This time Finnick helps me up.

"What the hell?" I shout. "This is stupid!"

I kick the heels off and, of course, Tina sits me down and shoves them back on my feet. This is going to be a long afternoon. They have to hold me up until I get the hang of hobbling around on the balls of my seat. Alaina, Tina, and Iris make it look so freaking _easy!_ I'm a fisherwoman. Fisherwomen _do_ _not wear high heels_. I make a mental note to request flats for my interview outfit.

I keep tripping over the ridiculously long skirt so Tina suggests I hitch it up to my ankles. That helps some. Years of perching in trees, on balance beams, and boat railings have giving me very good balance and thank goodness for that. If not, I'd probably be familiar with every inch of the floor.

Once I've got the walking down, I'm forced to sit on an extremely uncomfortable chair. I hate the damn thing but I still have to sit up perfectly straight, hands in my lap, and smile. And smile. And when I'm done smiling I have to smile some more.

Finnick and Tina drill me, making me answer questions and repeat phrases all while smiling, or starting with a smile, or ending with a smile. Finnick even walks around me, poking me with a fork, and if I break the smile I get chastised and have to answer another ten questions and Finnick will then resume his poking trick.

"What is the purpose of this?" I asked through my teeth, still grinning.

"You are angry and annoyed, correct?" Tina says. I nod. "This is to teach you to keep smiling no matter what."

"Well, it's working. Now stop it, Finnick."

But he doesn't. And while he keeps circling and poking I have to answer more questions. Finally after a hard poke to the back of my neck, I jump up, screaming every foul name and word and telling Finnick exactly where I will shove that fork if he doesn't quit. Then I decide differently, yanking the fork out of his hand and throwing it across the room. I didn't mean to, but the spokes skewer the wall, ruining the red-brown paint.

Finnick laughs, clearly not offended by any of my insults, which greatly aggravates me, but I am satisfied when I see that Tina has her face in her hands and shaking her head slowly.

"Are we done yet?" I snap rudely. But I don't care. I'm fed up with this. I'm not some dumb District 10 tribute who spent her life shoveling cow doo and has no idea how to present myself.

Without waiting for their answer, I yank the damn shoes off and take the knife from the tray of food we'd ordered for snacks. I plunge it into the skirt and cut off the bottom five inches of the dress. Tina shrieks in horror and disapproval. I ignore her, snagging the cheese platter and march out of my room. I don't let the snarl leave my face until I'm on the roof and in my spot in garden.

Damn this dress. Damn those shoes. Damn Tina Sheen. Damn Finnick. Damn forks. Damn smiling. Damn the interviews. Damn…I'm running out of things to damn. Damn it!

I'm going to screw up tomorrow and everyone's going to hate me. Will my actions at the Cornucopia be enough to earn me sponsors? Or will I just get people whose sponsored tributes die or fail?

I scream wordlessly to the sky. Someone else screams, too, only the scream is high-pitched and terrified. I leap up and sprint towards the one who dares intrude on my moment of weakness. If it weren't for the rules, I would tackle the tribute and slap him.

I do not know this tribute, just which district he's from. It's one of the cousins from District 9. I purse my lips and surveyed his little area. I don't know why this bugs me so much. Dozens of tributes have probably sought refuge here before the Games. This is not my garden. Still, I don't like it that this boy has made himself comfortable here.

He stares up at me in shock then swallows and blurts out. "My name is Barlee Zun! I have a mom and a dad but my dad is sick so I have to do a lot of the work for us! I have two little sisters and Sterra's like my sister and—"

"And I care _why_?" I snap.

He swallows. "Because the more you know about me, the less likely you are to kill me."

"Blabbering idiot," I sneer, "I've been trained to kill my whole life, taught to eliminate the twenty-three others I will face in the arena. Age, gender, district, color…it doesn't matter. You all die. I've got my own family to go home to and a little sister who wants me to train her."

Barlee Zun gulps and shivers as he shrinks back.

"You're pathetic." I sneer. He has to be sixteen years old; in my district, a boy like this dark haired and dark eyed boy would be working hard or training hard and probably be sought by many females. Maybe he _is _like that back in his district.

He puffs up like a blowfish despite his current predicament. I take a step forward and his bravado vanishes. I take a few more steps forward and he scoots away.

"Cowering like a little boy," I sneer again. "Don't worry. You'll be out of your misery soon enough. You and your cousin, Sterra right?" I lean down and pick up the plate of food he brought with him. "You'd better get used to being hungry again. That's if you live long enough to get hungry in the arena."

"Hey, that's mine!" He protests, reaching for it. I take the apple off and let the plate slide through my fingers. It shatters on the ground. I look down at it with false innocence. "Oopsie. I'm such a butterfingers!"

"You…just wasted all that food…" he whispers as if he can't believe it. Coming from District 9, I suppose he can't. But the honey-sweet smile doesn't leave my face.

"Yes I did. Oopsie!" I take a big bit out of the apple and toss it to him. He catches it—he's got good reflexes—and gawks at me. I turn and flounce away.

It was mean and I know it, but I vented my anger on someone who can't get me sponsors.

Pisces shows up about an hour later and scares the salt out of me. It takes him a few minutes to coax me down from the tree I jumped into. By then I've forgiven him and I'm mostly remaining up there to annoy him. What finally gets me down is him telling me he's been trying to not look up my dress and if I want to stay up there the least I could do was change. So, I go down and gladly take the tight black pants and neon pink shirt he's brought for me.

"You look good," he says when I return from the changing room I made behind some bushes.

I raise my eyebrows. "Are you kidding? Hell, they could see me from home wearing this thing!" I tug on the neon shirt.

He grins. "Exactly. Wouldn't want you to get lost, would we?"

I scowl. "Who put you up to this?"

"Finnick."

"Go figure." I mutter. "Traitor."

He laughs. "I wish I would've done that. You should've seen Tina when she held up the rags! Did you know you broke the heel on one of those shoes? And an Avox had one hell of a time getting that fork out of the wall."

He's grinning and I find myself grinning too. Ah, sweet success.

"So they'll be coming for you soon, no doubt." he adds.

I scowl and, deciding to get him back, I yank the shirt over my head and put my hands on my hips. He stares at my bare-except-for-undergarments torso for a second, then his face goes deep scarlet. "Dylan!"

"What?" I ask innocently, sitting down.

"Please."

"Please what?"

He grits his teeth. "Please put your shirt back on."

"Nah."

He growls and yanks his off. He practically throws it at me. I laugh and pull the navy blue shirt over my head. It is way too big for me but at least its not neon pink. He glances at my discarded brightly colored garb, as if he's considering putting it on, then he must've decided against it because it remains untouched where it landed.

"So, why did you really come up here?" I asked

"To see how you were doing. You know, Finnick poked me, too, but _I_ held my tongue and put up with it."

"If we weren't both tributes, I would punch you for being an arrogant ass." I tell him tersely.

He just laughs and to appease me, he shows me that he neon shirt is black on the inside. I turn it inside out and give him his shirt back. We end up taking the remaining cheese and heading over to the shield that keeps us on the roof.

After my observation of Rinn's attempted suicide, I'm pretty sure some sort of electrical current runs through the invisible force field. I take one of the carefully cut squares and hurl it into the open air. There's a tiny zap and the cheese comes shooting back to its launching point. I duck my head and it flies into my open mouth. The force startles me, then I relax as the taste of melted cheese registers on my taste buds.

I can't stop the quiet exclamation of approval from escaping my throat.

"Good?" Pisces asks.

I nod. He selects a piece from the tray then lets it fly. As he's reaching up to snag it, I jump in front of him and catch it in my mouth. I land in a crouch and turn to waggle my eyebrows at him. He scowls and throws another one. He expects my leap and his hand shoots out and hits my face. I fall and land ungracefully on the hard ground. I glare up at his pleased smile as he chews his treat.

He throws a few more that I let him have, then I jump up and catch the one that would've surely landed in his mouth. And it becomes a game, him jumping and ducking and weaving around to throw the cheeses, and me leaping and diving and landing to catch them on at least some part of my body. Then he gets tricky. He throws multiple pieces, first in the same direction, then in different directions. That's too difficult so he starts throwing the second one a few seconds after the first.

I'm leaping into the air to attempt what's promising to be a very difficult catch, when someone clears their throat. I turn and the cheese hits my cheek. I land in a heap on the ground and find myself looking up into the disapproving face of Beril Farren. I gulp and shrink back nervously.

"Uh oh…" Pisces mutters nearby.

"Uh, um…," I say uneasily. "Hi Beril."

Beril stares down at me disapprovingly for about a minute then she asks in a quiet, dangerous voice, "Where is the dress?"

I scurry back into the garden and return with the dress. She examines the ink blue fabric carefully, especially the bottom hem. She runs her fingers over the threads. Then she laughs, softly but growing louder with each second, until she's doubled over with her hands on her knees. Pisces and I glance at each other. Has she gone mad?

She doesn't scold me. She doesn't say anything as she, still laughing, beckons us to follow her down to dinner. After dinner, in which I studiously ignored Tina's glares and Finnick's teasing smiles, I retreat to my room. I want to go back down to the training center and shoot some arrows and throw some knives. Hack something up. At least scare some weak, underfed tribute. But nope, I'm stuck in here with nothing to do.

The middle-aged Avox woman comes in to turn down my bed as I'm braiding my hair. I've found over the years that braiding my hair is a perfect way to keep it in check. I used to even wrap a net around it to make sure it stayed when I was fourteen feet deep and relying on an oxygen mask and goggles that let me see perfectly in the darkening waters to continue my work. I hop off my bed and do my best to stay out of her way, but I can't help but watch her.

She is very pretty. In the familiar way, not the freakish way of the Capitol women. Tan skin and soft looking blonde hair that'spulled up in the professional ponytail all Avox females wear. And her eyes, soft brown and so sad….

"Would you take the place of a tribute if you could?" I whisper, then shut my mouth quickly, wondering where the hell that came from.

She freezes and her eyes flit around the room as if she's looking for someone else I could be speaking to, or someone who might here. Then she nods. So it's that bad to be an Avox that she's willing to throw herself into a life-and-death struggle to escape it.

"You'd die."

She doesn't respond, but as she passes me on her way out, she pauses and carefully traces letters onto my arm with her finger.

_F-R-E-E-D-O-M_

I stare down at my hand. I can almost see the word burned into my skin. She lets my arm go, but I keep it there. I'm not sure when she leaves, I just stare. Freedom: to be free; not bound by restraints.

Is that how some of the tributes see the competition? A way out of the world's pain and troubles? An escape? That's how it is to the Avox woman. To me, it's a chance at glory and riches. A chance to make life easier for my family and my district that will be showered with gifts if I win.

I lie awake in bed that night for a long time. I'm exhausted but I can't sleep. I can only think. Pisces, Leona, Silk, Jules, Arno, Sawyer, Rinn, Barlee, Garret, Ellery…and a bunch of others I don't care to remember. Those are my competitors. They must die. But, I wonder how many of the twenty-three others will welcome death, even if they don't want to.

* * *

**Well, I can bet you know what happens next chapter. :P And...of course...the Games begin in chapter 9**


	8. Interview

**Last chapter before the Hunger Games.**

**...Oh my god. DID YOU SEE WHO THEY CAST AS PEETA AND GALE? Josh I can see as Peeta with some dyed hair and eyebrows... but Liam? NO. NO. NO. -_-**

* * *

"Wake up, Dylan…"

It's Mom. Yeah, it's Mom. Mom is waking me up. What do I have to do today? It's Sunday, right? Yeah… I don't have to work today. So why am I being roused like this?

_Mom! Quit shaking me._

I grunt and smack her hand away and there's a shrill squeal.

That's not my Mom! My eyes snap open.

I'm wide awake and crouched on top of my bedspread before the people in my room can react. I'm not at home in District 4. I'm in the Capitol, in the Training Center, in my room on the fourth floor. It's not Mom waking me up. It's Simona who I slapped, she's cradling her arm.

My prep team.

It all really comes rushing back then. I'm in the 69th Hunger Games - which start tomorrow —and today is the day of the interview, the final chance to make a pre-Games impression on the Capitol, namely the sponsors. Aannndddd…that would be why my prep team is waking me up!

My prep team… They've already seen every inch of me, and I am fully clothed, but I'm suddenly self-conscious. I dive back under my covers and glare at them from under the comforter.

"Dylan, honey." Lynnea's voice cooed. "Come on out."

"Yeah, come on, come on, come on, come on!" Iris gushes. Her almost equally hyperactive twin, Cevin, joins her until I throw the covers off my head and glare at my prep team.

Iris and Cevin yank me out of bed and I'm hauled down to a floor of the Training Center that must be this building's equivalent of the Remake Center. I'm thoroughly washed, dried, and my hair is combed through a hundred times and a hundred times again. Then they start adding a gleaming polish to my body making me shine. They stencil faint patterns onto my skin so it looks like there is an intricate network of wavy lines and swirls. It reminds me of scales, but not quite. Only a light cover of makeup covers my face, just enough to "bring out my eyes" according to Cevin.

"They're so beautiful," he says wistfully. "They always show so much emotion! We need them to stand out!"

"Thanks." I say absentmindedly.

Alaina comes in just after lunch. A lunch which was basically me standing stark naked while Lynnea fed me spoonfuls of cream of potato soup, fruit, and by request, ice cream, so Cevin, Iris, and Simona continued their work on my face. (Ever tried eating while six hands are putting makeup on your face? Not fun.) Alaina has a dress with her. At least, I _think_ it's my dress. It's wrapped up so I'm not sure. Maybe it's another way to preen my artfully decorated body….

Alaina sets it down and I crane my neck to see what it is until Simona lightly taps my shoulder.

Alaina walks around me taking in the work of my prep team and nods her approval after what feels like fifteen minutes. "Yes, yes, well done all of you. I'm sure Dylan was much better this time, right?"

"Yes, much more than before the Opening Ceremonies." Lynnea said.

"Yes, she was so dreadful then." Iris says. "Little cleaning this time and her bad attitude barely made an appearance."

I feel my cheeks flush with anger.

"Ah, there's that temper again." Cevin clucks. "No matter, no matter, all that's left now is her outfit!"

Alaina smiles, "Quite right, Cevin. Dylan, close your eyes."

I sigh but do as I am told. I hear rustling, footsteps, a few "ahhs", and Lynnea smoothly saying, "You changed it."

"I had to when I learned of an unfortunate happening at her etiquette lessons yesterday."

I snort. "They had it coming."

A few of them laugh and I'm ordered to raise my arms. There's more rustling and then I feel the silkiness of the inside fabric slide over my body. It stops all too quickly and I realize that it's only a top. Then they help me step into the skirt. I hold out one foot at a time for my shoes and I'm more than relieved to find they are sandals. Then I feel them messing with my hair, pulling it around, working with it in ways they couldn't before. All the while I keep my eyes closed.

"She's beautiful," Iris says almost dreamily.

Ugh, I really wish someone else would agree. Iris' version of beauty and my version of beauty are _not_ the same. But then I hear Simona go, "Mmhmm." Well, her opinion is closer to mine. Her naturally colored hair and skin proves that.

"May I see?" I ask quietly.

"Yes." Alaina says.

I open my eyes and turn to look in the mirror. My mouth falls open.

The top covers my chest to about two inches below my breasts and an inch above; the 'waist' of skirt is a little low cut, about half an inch below my belly button, and falls to my shins. The rest of my skin is bare and that explains why they were stenciling my belly earlier. I turn my body a bit and light shimmers off the glitter, which is liberally sprinkled all over the fabric.

Part of my hair is braided intricately into a crown on the back of my head and the rest hangs down the back in waves. Glitter has been added and so every time I tilt my head rainbows are thrown every which way, like sunlight on water.

"—and it looks simply splendid, Dylan! …Dylan? Dylan!"

I shake my head quickly sending a swarm of swift rainbows out and look at my stylist who is now annoyed. "I'm sorry. What did you say? I was admiring this beautiful outfit!"

I've appeased Alaina. "I said we had to make the skirt shorter and give you sandals because of your apparent lack of skill in heels and long skirts. Don't be ashamed, sweetie, not everyone is capable of managing them. And Iris here suggested we make you look appealing. You'll get some rich young male attention if you look gorgeous."

I blush a bit. "Thank you, Alaina." I almost want to cry. I never cry! But everything they've done for me today…they've given me something I can never repay them for. They've made me beautiful. "Thank you all of you. Lynnea, Simona, Cevin, Iris, thank you. You were right, Simona."

Simona tilts her head, causing her red hair to cover part of her face.

"The other day, before the Ceremonies, you said I wasn't stunning yet. But I am now."

Her slight frown turned to a smile and she put her hand under my chin and titled it up. "Head high, smile, and make them all love you."

I smile. "I'll try."

"Good girl."

The last touch is to put a silver necklace around my neck and a dozen thin silver bracelets on my right wrist. The prep team, Alaina, and I eat a small snack together in a little room off to the side. They've put a robe around my outfit so any stains will be on there instead of ruining hours and hours of work. Good thing, too, because I accidentally drop a strawberry covered in chocolate. Oops. Even though the robe catches the damage, Cevin still faints.

A grown man fainting over a diverted fashion disaster—I'm pretty sure I've seen everything now.

It takes Iris two minutes to wake him up and when he finally does get up he is blushing so much that he looks sun burnt. I can't stop laughing. Cevin lifts his chin and ignores me for the rest of the meal.

When the time is right, Alaina leads me up to the room that serves as backstage for the interviews. Most of the other tributes have arrived. Instead of mingling and admiring the other costumes, I hurry to my place in line in front of Pisces. He raises his eyebrows and stares at me.

"Well damn, Dylan!"

I glare.

He and I aren't dressed similarly this time. He has on a dark blue tank top and loose matching pants and shoes. His hair is pulled into a loose ponytail and his makeup brings out the color of his eyes. Oh! His eyes! His clothes match his eyes. His team stenciled golden net-like patters on his arms and a trident on each of his forearms. They've very skillfully designed the network so it brings out the defined muscles on his arms.

"I think Finnick had something to do with out costumes," he says lightly.

"How?"

"Maybe, since he's our mentor and friend, people expect us to want to be like him." He shrugs.

I frown and looked down at my bare skin again. "Ugh…"

He laughs and pats me on the shoulder. "Oh, don't worry about it."

"Easy for _you _to say."

He snorts. "Please. I've already got Leona trying to win me over—probably for some sort of protection—and I really don't want a bunch of Capitol girls panting after me, too."

"Hey, they're good sponsors."

"Yeah, but if I win, I might turn out like Finnick." He makes a face.

"I don't think he would like that very much."

"Why?"

"He'd have to actually put forth some effort to get girls."

"Heaven forbid!" he grins then poked me in the belly.

I squeak which only makes him laugh. He keeps poking my exposed belly, I squeak each time while trying to swipe his hands away. "Cut…eep! Cut it—eep! Cut it out!"

"Hey, you two, come on!" one of the stagehands snaps. I can hardly see him in the dim light. He's dressed in black and his skin and hair have been dyed an unnaturally dense shade of black.

He ushers us into line with the other tributes so I'm left staring at the back of Natin from District 3's head. His hair looks straight and it looks like there are gold flecks in it now, but I'm not too sure because of the light. His stylists did a good job, I'll give them that. I suppose it's only fair that someone with virtually no chance in the arena gets his moment to shine out here. Hopefully he'll make his mama proud.

The music starts from onstage and we walk out. The cheering picks up the moment Silk goes through the door and only increases as the rest of us file out. It disgusts me but I smile and wave at the cameras, and more specifically, my family and friends watching me on the other side. I wonder if the people back home who know Dylan Syle as a tomboyish, hard-working girl can even recognize the beautiful woman making her way across the stage.

I take my seat and carefully smooth my dress down. I plaster on a smile that will make Tina proud and focus my gaze on the nearest camera. Our entire world can see us right now. From now until the end of the Hunger Games and it's post-ceremonies there will be power in all the districts of Panem. Everyone will be granted the courtesy of round the clock electricity in order to tune into the events whenever they choose.

The cheering picks back up the moment all the tributes are seated and Caesar Flickerman, the interviewer and host of the interviews, bounces onstage. He, like half the people I've met, is sporting the Hunger Game's colors this year, light blue. It looks good on him. For a moment, I wonder how old he _really _is. He's been the host since before I was born but he has not changed once in all these years. Surgery is really starting to creep me out.

He quiets the crowd and starts things up with a few jokes to get everyone in a good mood, then he calls Silk up. I notice an instant change in my alliance member/friend. She's lost the easy attitude she's been showing the past few days and has taken on a dark, mysterious tone. She's wearing floor-length silky black decorated in amethyst jewels dress that shows plenty of creamy skin and matching fingerless gloves. I like the message it conveys.

A hush falls over the crowd as she heads up to the stage, save for a few wolf whistles which she seems to ignore. Her voice has a smile in it and she speaks kindly to Caesar at first, mentioning how she is a sucker for beautiful things, such as her outfit, and how she was sure it was her stylist's way of apologizing for his lack of creativeness at the Opening Ceremonies. When he moves on to her strategy for the Games she becomes somewhat elusive, mentioning only that it should come as no surprise and that she's looking forward to the action.

Jules goes next, as arrogant as ever, wearing a white suit and diamond-studded white gloves. He flaunts his arrogance and a charm I never thought he had. Leona follows in a sexy pink dress that shows more than it covers, black gloves, and knee-high black high heeled boots, flaunting what her mama gave her and earning her the approval of every young suitor in the Capitol and probably a few of the older ones, too. Then comes Arno in a long-sleeved brown shirt and black pants. His team has made him look so laid back, which only adds to the confidence he's emitting. Natin and Whisp follow, each dressed in similar purple outfits, and hinting at secret skills. I'm gritting my teeth in frustration while trying to make sense of their clues when my name is called out.

I instantly smile brightly and make my way up to Caesar Flickerman. I curtsey slightly to him and he chuckles. "Hello, Dylan! …I did say that right, didn't I?"

It was polite of him to check. Natin had corrected Caesar because he'd pronounced it Nah-ten instead of Nate-in.

I nod, still smiling. "Yes, but since we're on that subject, my friend who I volunteered for, well her name is pronounced Cah-tee-uh, not Cat-tee-uh. Everyone always says it wrong, it gets on her nerves."

He laughs. "Well, as much as I'd like to ask about your friends, we're here to talk about you and time is tick-ticking away!"

"Well then, man, ask away! I am an open book for tonight only."

"Well, then, I'm not sure if you've heard, but everyone has been talking about what happened at the train station."

"What about it?"

"Well, everyone noticed a certain somebody with his arms around you and your district partner. Care to explain?"

I laugh and put my hand on my forehead. "Oh yes. Finnick. Right pain in the gills when we were all growing up, kinda ticked a few of us off when he volunteered. He may rank on the "top ten hottest guys in Panem" list, but to me he'll always be the annoying twerp who used to chase us girls around with handfuls of fish guts."

I stick my tongue out in the general direction of the mentor's box and the audience roars with laughter. Caesar actually doubles over and pats me on the shoulder.

"So what do you think of your costumes?" he asks, swiftly changing the subject.

I look down at my attire and just shake my head. "I feel like the princess! I loved the fishy getup from the parade, but this is cooler. I usually never dress anything like this! I'll bet it took my own mother a few seconds to recognize me." I look into the camera as if I'm speaking directly to my family.

"Now let's talk about that impressive score of yours. How'd you do it?"

"Oh come on, Caesar, you know I'm not allowed to give anything away!"

He groans like a disappointed child and the audience laughs.

I pat his shoulder. "Sorry. You'll just have to watch me during the Games to find out. I've got a lot more up my sleeves than what the Gamemakers saw. …My competitors better grow eyes in the back of their head and learn to sleep with those eyes wide open. I'm not afraid of _any_ of them…but they better be terrified of me."

The audience loves the cold undertone that has entered my voice and I'm sure there's a cruel smirk on my face. They clap and cheer wildly. Caesar seems mildly surprised at my sudden personality shift so I decide to shift it back quickly. They'll love this.

I put on my biggest and brightest grin and cheerfully say, "Caesar, I promise we'll talk more about my family and anything else you'd like to know once I get back from the arena."

"Hah, I'm looking forward to it."

The buzzer goes off and my time is up.

"Well, thank you and best of luck Dylan Syle, tribute from District 4."

As I make my way back to my seat I see every tribute looking at me with shock or wariness, except for Pisces who high-fives me on his way up.

Pisces has, despite the obvious arrogance, a very likeable attitude while he talks to Caesar. Our shark tactic is working perfectly. Finnick is brought up among the questions, naturally, and Pisces carefully steers the responses away from that particular subject and on to more about himself. I didn't like sitting through the next two districts. I didn't want to know how amazed the tributes from poorer districts were with the Capitol's grandeur and how different the food was. I especially don't want to hear Rinn talk about how much she misses her family and hopes they would be proud of her no matter what. Sawyer's interview, however, I pay very close attention to.

She's in a dress the color of an evergreen and her arms have vines stenciled and glittered on them, plus there were vines and leaves woven into her wavy brown hair. Her lipstick is a dark brown and she has on plenty of green eye shadow that matches her eyes. Her stylist has a thing for making the District 7 tributes into trees, but this time, she's actually done something right. Sawyer makes it clear right away that she's not to be counted out of the Games.

"I'm not afraid even if they want me to be." She says and I know it's directed towards me. Whether or not it's part of the act or an actual warning I don't know.

I try to keep my face in a scowl after that and I turn my head to follow her back to her seat. She catches my eye and smiles so quickly that I almost miss it.

Ellery from District 8 has the "little girl" look going. She's wearing a with short sleeved light yellow dress that falls to her knees, embroidered with white lace at the hem, and a sash around her waist. Her ponytailed hair falls in ringlets, her shoes are white flats, and she has minimal makeup that only makes her look cuter. She giggles a lot and talks about herself, her family, and her friends. Caesar seems to understand that she doesn't want to talk about the days to come so he keeps the conversation going about her. I learn she has always wanted to be an artist and is always drawing with anything she can find. The rooms in her house are covered in doodles and scribbles to remind her family of good, happy things. She mentions a little sister who wants a particular teddy bear that Ellery had always kept in her bed and tells her little sister to keep it safe until she gets home.

I think of Lana and her wide-eyed amazement of my knife set and when I told her to keep the number I'd had during the reaping safe. I wonder if she's holding it right now or if she is keeping it safe somewhere. I think of Ellery's little sister who probably ran to get the teddy the moment she had permission and who is probably telling the television image of Ellery that the toy is safe from harm. I want to cry and I force myself to tear my gaze away from her and study my shoes so the audience, and more importantly, the cameras can't see me like this.

I wait until Garret is up and talking before I look up again and keep my expression bored. It's not hard. Most of the conversation is about him and the girl who'd kissed him at the reaping. Apparently her name was Julie and they were old friends and she'd secretly felt for him for a while and prayed for his safe return blah, blah, blah. Personally, I'd be willing to bet several slaps from a fish tail that it was an act. Now if they'd been dating for a year or so…then I might believe it.

Barlee and Sterra Zun from 9 talk about each other and themselves and their families, plus how they plan to be allies in the arena no matter what. The buzzers didn't go off fast enough. Skyler talks about his brother and how he hopes that, even though Shon won't be able to seem him, that his brother will be proud of him. Fleece from 11 is wearing a beautiful strapless black dress with a shawl draped over it. If I didn't know any better I would say her that her other arm was hidden under there. Finally, fifteen agonizingly slow minutes later, the buzzer goes off one final time and the District 12 boy sits down.

Caesar bids the audience farewell and we all rise, give a final bow, then file off the stage. We head back into the Training Center elevators. I ride up with Garret and Ellery who keep close to the other side of the elevator. Before we reach my floor, I look down at Ellery.

"Armed peacekeepers won't be able to hurt that teddy bear."

She looks up and smiles just barely.

I hop off the elevator and it closes behind me. I head down the hall and I'm ambushed by a beaming Marrian.

"Brilliant!" she squeezes me then thumps me on the back. "Some of those tributes actually looked scared near the end!"

Tina Sheen bursts through the elevators, pulling Pisces' along then pulls the two of us into a hug, crying so much that her makeup starts to run.

"Relax, Tina." I say and pat her wig.

"I am so proud of you both! So, so proud!"

"Hey, thanks Tina." Pisces says.

She pulls a tissue out of her pocket and dabs her eyes. "Oh now look what you two did. I'm going to have to totally reapply my makeup before leaving!"

"Oh yes, it's all our fault." Pisces rolls his eyes. Once she's gone to fix herself up we both laugh quietly.

Tina, Tina, Tina. You silly little thing.

Mags makes an appearance for the first time since I saw her after my session with the Gamemakers and congratulates us both. At least I think she's congratulating us. Sometimes she's a bit hard to understand. Beril and Zaire come next and take turns thumping us on the back. Zaire liked me teasing Finnick.

Finnick hugs me when he shows up. "Oh smart move, Dilly. Use me to gain you popularity."

I scowl at my old nickname. "Hey, I'm working with what I've got. Don't tell me you don't do the same."

"If you win, don't you dare tell Caesar about how the fish guts episode ended."

I smile innocently. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Daemon and Alaina show up next and finally Reno hops off the elevator then we can go in and eat. Marrian says she requested the meal earlier in honor of our last night in the Capitol, and for at least one of us, our last night out of the arena. My mouth falls open at the sight. Our meal is not comprised of foreign food to fit someone like Tina's fancy. It's…from home! Platters of seafood are laid out in the middle of the large table, clear pitchers full of beverages I recognize from home sit on fancy trays, some being warmed and others not. Instead of wine glasses we have actual cups to drink from.

"I requested they be prepared in the styles of home." Marrian adds. "They got the recipes and as you can see, they did an excellent job."

I pile bits of every kind of fish I can onto my plate. I know my crewmates caught some of this fish, if not all of it. So with every bite I take I list them off. "And here's to you, Mimili!" I say and pop a piece of shrimp in my mouth. Pisces laughs more with each name I mention. Tina joins us a few minutes after I'm done listing my crewmates, looking bright and refreshed and covered in a new layer (or two) of makeup. She regards the amount of seafood with clear surprise.

She actually drops her fork in shock when she takes a bight of the tuna salad mixed with shrimp and seaweed. That's a delicacy back home, but not so much here, apparently. She seems to be making an effort to chew it up. We all watch her expression as she finally swallows it and blinks rapidly then takes a drink of the warm, non-alcoholic coconut flavored wine. Clearly she thought it was water because it's swallowed so quickly that she chokes. Finnick thumps her on the back a few times as she coughs then wipes he mouth.

I can't help it. I giggle and she gives me a reproachful look.

"Is it really that bad, Tina?" I ask, only half-sincere.

"I…just wasn't expecting that, erm, taste!"

"These are all foods from home, prepared as they are at home." Finnick explains and pops a piece of shellfish into his mouth. "That salad you just ate is always prepared in a bowl smeared with jellyfish jelly."

Tina's eyes bug out of her head and she turns an unhealthily shade of green. I press my lips together to stop the laughter from escaping. Anyone from my district would know Finnick was lying, jellyfish don't make jelly, but that clearly is not common knowledge outside the fishing district.

"Oh god." She looks at Finnick as if she's begging him to say 'Gotchya.'

Finnick just regards his bowl of the seafood salad then takes a bite. "Yeah, it's that salty tang there." That's the seaweed. "The jelly gets mixed in and gives it a little kick."

"Are you sure?" Marrian takes a bite and tilts her head thoughtfully. "No…no I think you've still got the taste from that wine in your mouth." She points at the pitcher got her drink from.

"Yes, yes." Beril says and takes a bite. She nods, playing along perfectly. "They definitely used the tentacle skin of an octopus to smear the bowl of the salad."

Tina puts her hand over her mouth and I can't stand it. I burst out laughing so hard I have to rest my head on the table. The others start to laugh, too, and I glance up to see poor Tina still looking nauseous, but thoroughly embarrassed and angry.

"Oh you are all…simply…horrible!" she whimpers.

Mags takes a drink from her cup then licks her lips and says, "Delicious."

"That's her favorite drink." I lie. "Oranges mixed with liquefied fish scales. Nothing better."

That does it. Tina leaps up and runs from the room at a speed I didn't know possible for a woman on high heels. She finally comes back as we're finishing up the sponge cake.

"It's sponge cake," Marrian promises. "Normal sponge cake."

Tina regards it warily but eventually eats it with a smile on her face.

"We were kidding earlier, you know." Finnick says. "Even we wouldn't eat stuff like that."

Tina nods, clearly reassured, but still piqued.

We then retire to the sitting room and watch the replay of the interviews. I'm pleased to see that during the moment where I let my likeable mask slip that I looked, and sounded, like a threat. I watch the rest intently just in case I missed something earlier. When it's over we're told to get ready for bed.

Reno bids me farewell and affectionately rumples my hair before going off to speak to Pisces. Marrian does the same for me.

"Do you have letters?" she asks.

"Letters?"

"Yes. Just in case…"

I shake my head. "But, if you think I should, I'll write them tomorrow during the hovercraft ride."

She nods. "Remember; take out anyone and everyone you can during the bloodbath. When the alliance splits make sure you find a good water source and defend it well, but do not lose your life over it. Though, I doubt that will be a problem."

I smile and laugh once. "Right." Then I hug her. "Thank you for everything."

She hugs me back. "It's been my pleasure. Good luck. Stay alive."

Beril hugs me. "Remember, aim good and don't miss."

"I won't," I say.

"Good girl."

Zaire offers no grand goodbyes, just a simple hug and a gentle pat on the back. Mags hugs me and says, "Good luck, dear. Don't ever give up."

"Thank you, Mags."

Finnick is the next to say farewell. I still don't really like him, but I accept his hugs. I do not, however, appreciate the kiss he plants on my nose. I resist the urge to slap him. Tina says goodbye and promises to do her best to keep me in favor.

I leave my costume on the table in my room then head into the shower.

The warm water rushing down my skin clams me down and so does the ocean spray shampoo. I wash away all the makeup and glitter until I'm bare again. I breathe in deeply and let the few tears I've been holding in fall. If I don't win, I will never see Marrian again. I will never see my mother, my father, my brothers and sister, my friends… I'll never see them again. The real, cruel reality of it has been kept at bay for these past few days by my excitement and hard work, but now with reality of the Hunger Games looming overhead, I felt the true grief that I knew most of my competitors had been experiencing this past week.

I start to cry. I press my fists to my eyes and let the tears fall. What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn't be losing it now of all times. Then again, it is probably better to get it all out now instead of in the arena where all of Panem can see.

The water washes my tears away. I love the water. I hope there is at least some water in the arena. I might just go crazy if I'm chucked into a desert or barren wasteland.

I go through the process of drying off and ridding my hair of tangles then stand in front of the mirror and brush my hair just for the heck of it. I put on my pajamas next and I'm still not ready to go to bed yet so I twist my hair into several braids.

When I finally walk back into my room I find the blonde Avox turning down my bed sheets. She gives me a quick smile and pats the bed. I sigh but walk over to her and lay down anyway. She tucks the covers around me and even goes as far as brushing a few stray locks of hair away from my face like my mother used to do.

"Now don't do that. You're making me miss my mama even more." I pout.

She gives me a slightly apologetic smile, bows once then exits the room, taking my outfit with her. She hits the light switch and the moment the door closes I'm enveloped in darkness. I close my eyes and wait for sleep to come. It does, eventually, but I wake up a few times during the night, terrified, until I remember where I am and then I'm able to relax back into sleep, for the most part.

Alaina wakes me up much more gently than my prep team did yesterday and she smiles when my eyes open. "Good morning, sleepy head. Hurry up, it's time to go."

I yawn once and I'm out of bed before she can ask again. I quickly wash up while she undoes the braids and brushes my hair out before putting it into a ponytail. Then she leads me to the roof where a hovercraft is waiting. I open my mouth to ask how I'm getting up there when a ladder like the one used to lift the winner out of the arena descends from a door in the bottom. I climb on and I'm frozen in place. It's not like I didn't expect this, but it shocks me anyway. I can barely flare my nostrils to breathe.

When I'm inside I expect it to release me but it doesn't. I whimper in confusion and a woman comes in carrying a tray with the two biggest syringes on it that I've ever seen. I squeak in alarm.

"This is just your tracker, Dylan." She explains as she picks one up. "Hold still please."

As if I have a choice. I bite back an instinctive squeak when I feel the pain as she inserts it deep beneath the skin on my arm. Now the Gamemakers will always know exactly where I am in the arena and outside of it, too, until it's removed. Wouldn't want anyone escaping, would we?

She picks up the second one and I grunt. She doesn't explain what it is, though, and inserts it under my other arm. It hurts even worse than the first one did. The ladder releases me and I rub my arms to ease the feeling away.

"Hey, what the hell did you put in me?"

She pauses on her way out the door. "Your tracker."

"I meant the other one." You dumb blonde.

She just smiles. "You'll find out soon enough."

"You have no idea, do you?" I frown.

She doesn't respond and leaves. That's a no.

Alaina arrives and I complain to her about what just happened. She raises her eyebrows. "Two chips? Are you sure?"

"I felt them go in! Of course I'm sure!"

"Hmm. I'll see if it happened to Pisces, too."

"Can you do that?"

She nods and an Avox comes to lead us into another room where we're served breakfast. Unless there is some damn good food at the Cornucopia or my sponsors are generous, this will be my last first-class meal for a while.

I wolf down the pancakes and fried eggs and pretty much leave the fruit alone. Alaina murmurs quietly on the phone across from me and when she finally hangs up she reports that the same thing happened to Pisces. As I scarf down as much as I can I watch the view from the window. I see the city, the mountains, then an unfamiliar wilderness rushing by. The ride lasts roughly forty-five minutes before the windows are covered completely. During that time, I scribble down letters on paper provided by Alaina—one to my friends from training, one to those who I didn't train with, one to my mom, and one to Brok for him to read to everyone in my crew. It's hard because it's like saying my final goodbyes from beyond the grave, or something.

_Dear Mom_,

_I've been having…well I've been having fun here. Most of the tributes are decent enough. I've even come to call a few of them…friends. The food is divine. I wish I could bring you here and let you try the food, try on these clothes, and let you see how these people live. It's nothing like back home. It's never dark or quiet here. You'd hate it. _

_Last night Marrian had our dinner be entirely of stuff from home and made like they do back home. We had __so__ much fun teasing Tina Sheen. You know that seafood salad with tuna, shrimp, and seaweed? Finnick told her it was prepared in a bowl full of jellyfish jelly and she __believed him!__ Then Marrian said he was wrong and that the warm coconut drink had jellyfish jelly in it and then Beril said it was octopus tentacle skin that had been smeared on the bowl! I told her Mags was drinking orange juice with liquefied fish scales! Tina's not very knowledgeable about ocean life or our food customs. I think she threw up. But yes, we did apologize._

_I know that, if you're reading this, then I am dead. Just so you know, if I had won, I would've burned all these envelopes one by one with you all gathered around. As I'm writing this, Alaina and I are on the hovercraft that takes me to the arena. She is very nice. _

_One of my prep team recognized my token as Rilee's. She and Alaina remember her from when she was here. They said she should have won. _

_Are you proud of me, Mom? I got one of the highest scores, I was nice enough to some of the other tributes, and I was beautiful and charming and I made sure everyone knew I loved you guys. Make sure Lana and Evan know that even though I died that I will always be with them. Tell Luke that I'm sorry that I couldn't do what he wanted. Tell Dad that I couldn't get my head out of the fight and that was fine. I chose for my life to be all about this. I knew very well that death was the most likely option, but I accepted it. I'll tell Rilee hi for you._

_I love you._

_Dylan._

We must be getting close now. I fold my last letter up and seal it in the envelope. Alaina takes them, promising they'll be safe with her.

When we finally land a good half hour after the windows blacked out the ladder leads us down a tube into the catacombs beneath the arena. Here is where the Launch Rooms, otherwise known as Stockyards in the districts, are, as well as where any muttations will be stored as well as anything provided for a feast. The rooms are in a large circle so we can ride up the tubes into a circle around the Cornucopia. I hope they stocked me plenty of knives and maybe a bow and a quiver of arrows…

This place seems so empty now—tributes are brought down here one at a time so as not to spark anything too early—and it almost makes me sick to think about how crowded this place will be in just a few months time. Capitol families will vacation here. They will tour this place, snap pictures of the winner's Launch Room, ride up through the chutes into the arena, participate in reenactments, tour the arena on luxurious vehicles, and visit the death sites… I imagine some inhumanly colored Capitol brats reenacting a battle I have with another tribute and I clench my fists so tightly that my nails bite into my palm.

My Launch Room is brand, spanking new. I will be the only tribute to ever use this place. …If I die here and become a ghost I will haunt this place for sure.

Alaina directs me to a simple shower and I wash off thoroughly. When I'm done I feel more awake and refreshed. Alaina helps me dry off and uses a hairdryer on my hair while I brush my teeth. She combs my hair out and then pulls it up into a high ponytail then braids it. I could use this to smack someone when I spin around. Clothes arrive and I dress in the undergarments while she examines my outfit for the arena. The outfit is designed to help me in the terrain and is identical to the other tribute's outfits: a brown shirt, and a waist-length murky green-brown jacket and matching pants.

She rubs the fabric of the shirt between her fingers and even sniffs it once. "It seems very water-resistant so you'll be getting wet a lot. It's your lucky day, honey."

I beam.

"I love this fabric." She says as she feels the pants. "It's mostly used in pool attire, made for easy gliding through water and quick drying. You'll probably either be swimming or wading a lot. Yes…this jacket is water resistant, too, but the inside material reflects body heat. It could get cold in there."

"You can tell all that just by looking at it and feeling it?" I ask incredulously.

She nods. "However, there's something in this jacket I can't quite place. It's not something I'm familiar with."

The shoes are like the ones the guys on the deck wear, but much more comfortable. I don't need Alaina to tell me what they're good for. They're designed to be durable, resist water, and keep as much off out feet as possible. She has me run around the room, do some stretches, and any other movement I can to make sure it fits properly and won't hinder me. Then she pulls out Rilee's necklace and fastens it around my neck.

"There you go. You're ready." She puts her hand under my chin. "You'll do brilliantly, I know it. I'm already designing your interview dress. Which color do you prefer, pink or lavender?"

"Lavender, definitely."

"I'll keep that in mind."

I smile then I sit down and do some more stretches and warm up exercises I need to be ready to run and fight instantly. When I get bored of that I sit with Alaina again and she gives me some food to eat. I nibble on the apple and slurp down water greedily.

"If you win, you'll need a talent. What will it be?"

"Oh, um…" I tap my chin thoughtfully. "Net making, maybe…. Honestly, I plan to train our future tributes if I win. All victors go to train new tributes. Star students who never became tributes can train, too. If I hadn't volunteered I would've gone on to do that anyway."

"If you hadn't?"

I smile sheepishly. "I wasn't supposed to volunteer. I lost in the last round of the Trials and they chucked me out. My friend, Willow, was supposed to go, but she got hurt the day before the reaping and the girl who defeated me in the Trials was going to go… A friend devised a plan that was carried out to stop her from volunteering for a few seconds so I would get the chance."

Marrian's eyebrows are as high as they can go. "It is very strict there."

I nod. "But no where near as strict as District 2."

"Why all the tributes are not trained is beyond me."

"Well, look at it this way. A lot of people hate you guys. If all the districts turned their kids into killing machines then there would be another rebellion. Plus, it's hardly a punishment when everyone who goes wants to!"

She frowns. "Point taken, but don't worry, I will not tell a soul!"

I smile and thank her.

"So, if you don't mind, how did she beat you?"

I purse my lips. "I had just beaten my…opponent and she was screaming so loud that I didn't hear Nita come up behind me."

"I'm assuming Nita is the one who beat you?"

"Yes. She stabbed me here—" I lift my shirt to point out the scar from my surgery as well as the small scar where the awl pierced me "—with an awl and cut up my legs and knocked me cold." I proceed to point out the old scars that reminded me of my disgraceful defeat. "But trust me. Hilla, the girl I was fighting before, looks way worse."

Alaina raises her eyebrows. "I am anxious to see you fight."

"Yeah, thanks. But…if I win, don't treat me differently, ok? I'm still me. I don't care if the preps are scared shitless, but you stay the same, ok?"

"Ok." She pulls me into a hug and pats my back. We stay like that until a cool female voice announces that it's time to prepare for departure.

I take a deep breath and head over to the launch pad. "Do me a favor." I say before stepping on. "Smack Finnick for me. Right across the face. He kissed me last night and I did not appreciate it."

She laughs and pushes me onto the plate. I turn around to smile at her and I keep smiling as glass surrounds me. The plate beneath me begins to rise and she waves, tears pooling in her eyes. I wave back until I can't see her anymore then I take a big breath and force away the choking emotions, fixing my eyes on the growing light above me.

I instinctively curl my hands into claws and grit my teeth.

This is it. The moment I've trained nearly ten years for. The thing that gave me my drive to continue on when I was so tired I wanted to pass out.

The Hunger Games.

* * *

***maniacal laughter***

**BRING IT ON!** **:D:D:D**


	9. Blood

**Holy crap. Extras casting in NC. I can't get there this weekend. *sobs***

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen! Let the Sixty-ninth Hunger Games begin!"

Despite my preparation, the light momentarily blinds me. I blink rapidly to clear my vision and immediately begin to survey my surroundings. I only have about fifty-five seconds. If anyone leaves their plates before the gong sounds they get blown to pieces by landmines. We are surrounded on all sides by trees with little undergrowth, on a grassy island surrounded by a small river. Beyond the river is more ground with, if my eyes are correct, ponds. It's like a swamp. The air is warm and musty.

In the middle of the island where all twenty-four of us stand sits the golden Cornucopia. My lips curve up in a smirk. I can see food, supplies, and weapons obviously, stacked up at the Cornucopia. Unlike some years, there is a lot of stuff, lesser valued of course, scattered around the Cornucopia. Seems the Gamemakers decided to be nice this year. Then again…I'll bet some of them won't be able to cross the river. So I guess it evens out.

I give my head a quick shake and focus on locating my ally members. I can't see Jules or Leona so they must be on the other side of the Cornucopia. Silk is three tributes to my right. Pisces is four beyond her. Arno is six to the left of me. Sawyer is exactly next to me. I can only hope that Leona managed to tell her what her job is here at the Cornucopia.

The gong will ring any second any second now.

I lean forward. I am ready to run.

…

BONG!

I fly off my plate, my long legs propelling me forward. I reach the Cornucopia and pick up a sword. "Pisces!" I shout and toss it to my district partner who is just arriving. I scramble up the pile and snag a bow and a quiver. I sling the quiver over my shoulders and pick up some nearby knives. I stuff a few into my belt then leap down and charge.

Already the other tributes have either reached the Cornucopia or are hovering near the bank, trying to figure out whether or not it's safe to cross.

Sawyer and Proy arrive at the Cornucopia together. I pause for a moment to observe them. Has Sawyer betrayed us? If so, I will see to it that she dies here, now. She picks up an axe and Proy secures a pack on his shoulders. He looks around and spots me watching them, knives ready. He turns to warn Sawyer and only manages to duck as she swings an axe at his head. His eyes widen. In that one second, he must've realized she is not his ally as he had thought and that she was ready to kill him, despite the a pariah she would become if she returned home. He manages to avoid her and sprints for the river. She doesn't pursue, however, and heads after some nearby tributes while Arno heads after Proy.

Jules and Leona have taken up guard by the supplies, attacking anyone who gets too close. The rest of us are eliminating competition.

Tributes are still by the shore but some are wading in. They must know how much danger they're in, but I know they're wondering which death they'd prefer; quickly by another tribute's hand or slowly in the river. I tuck the rest of the knives in my belt, whip out an arrow, and send it flying into the head of the boy from District 5. He sags and lands in the water. His body rises to the surface, but isn't pulled along. I swear loudly. Despite the fact that I have eliminated a competitor, I have also revealed to anyone who was watching that the water has no current.

Some of the tributes begin the flounder across, quite quickly to my surprise, and take off into the trees. I send another arrow flying but it misses Hara from District 12 by a hair. _Sweetie, it's your lucky day._

I turn and focus my attention on the other tributes. The ones who dared to go in for weapons and supplies. Already some lie dead on the ground. The District 12 boy a few meters away with an axe and backpack, currently making a beeline for the river is my number one priority.

I pull a knife from my belt, grip the blade, and toss it. He must hear it because he whirls and intercepts it with a slash of the axe. I slip the bow up my arm and pull out two slightly curved numbers. I let the first one go and, as expected, he blocks it, but he doesn't have enough time to deflect the other and it hits him in the chest. It's a miracle that it missed the heart! It's enough, though, to bring him down. He falls like a stone, dropping his weapon and pulls the knife out. The blood soaks his shirt, spilling onto the ground immediately. He stares up at me pleadingly.

While I could use this pitiful boy to demonstrate my skills to the Capitol, the absolute terror in his eyes stirs some unexpected pity in me and I decide to end him quickly. I pick up the knife he'd yanked out and drive it into his heart. I hear him gasp a final breath then his head falls to the side and the light dies from his eyes. Before I can feel any remorse, I leap up, taking the knife, and head back into the fighting.

The amount of tributes is dying down considerably, some having fled, but many lay on the ground either dead or dying, except for a few who fight back. I spot the dark-haired District 3 girl lying on the ground. So much for her secrets.

Garret from 8 is putting up one helluva fight. It seems the factory boy knows something about sparring because he's going against Sawyer with a sword while also trying to flee, a backpack on his shoulders and supplies shoved into his pockets. I consider helping her, but she seems to be doing well enough on her own and this is her moment to prove herself. Suddenly Garret bolts away, leaping into the river and wading across surprisingly quickly. I follow his path with my eyes and spot Ellery peering out from behind a tree, her eyes wide with horror. They sprint off together.

Sawyer's panting, still poised for attack.

Someone gives a war cry very close by and I spin around in time to see Liam from 6 running towards me with a spear. I jump to the side so the spear doesn't shish-kabob me and he runs right into Arno who, with a scream, swings his club at the boy's head. Liam is flung away and he crumples to the ground, moaning in pain. He'll be dead in moments.

I stare, shocked, at the huge dent in his head then turn my attention to Arno, just in case he decides to do that to me, but he's not even paying attention to me anymore.

By now, the bloodbath must be nearly over. The last tribute is fleeing for his life and besides my alliance members and I, everyone on this island lies dead on the ground. One of them is lying very close to the Cornucopia in a pool of blood. She must've been shot down by Jules or Leona. I recognize the hair but I can't really remember who that is at the moment.

I swallow some oxygen then punch the air. "YEAH!"

Sawyer laughs behind me. "I—I did it!"

I turn to give her a high five. Arno whoops loudly and shouts to the sky, "How was that for an opening act?"

Silk comes back across the river, cradling her arm. Pisces is right behind her, looking grim.

"What happened?" I call.

"District 10 happened!" she spit venomously. "That cow-herder can really use a sword!"

"Did you get 'em?" Arno asks.

"I did." Pisces nods and drops the blood covered sword. "Just left her body back there, they'll pick it up." All tributes, dead or not, are removed from the arena via a hovercraft.

"Hey, where's the District 2 girl?" Sawyer suddenly asks. "Leona, right?"

She's right. Leona is not present. Silk, who's on the ground with a first aid kit trying to bandage her arm, looks up at Sawyer's words. "You mean she's not here?"

"Did she go with you?"

"No and I didn't see her as we were running after that girl." She raises her voice. "Leona?"

"Guys," Jules says softly. "She's right here."

We all turn to look. He's standing over the fallen girl tribute next to the Cornucopia. Now I know whose hair it is.

"Oh man." I murmur.

Arno gasps, horrified, and rushes over to his district partner. "Lee?" he gives her a shake, even though he knows it must be futile. She slumps onto her back and from over here I can tell she is dead. She's too limp, too pale, the pool of blood around her too large. I sigh and shake my head. I'm not saying that I exactl_y wanted _her alive, but she was one of us! It's too soon. Too soon.

Jules clears his throat. "Pisces, you and I should get the other bodies together near the river. Girls start sorting through the supplies."

Sawyer and Silk nod and get to work. I, however, stay tense like a lion, surveying the land. Leona's death scares me. I've seen her fight and I know she wasn't an easy one to take down. Someone else in this arena is capable of killing us, and that person could still be around. I load the bow as the thought crosses my mind—I can shoot farther than I can throw—and slowly scan every inch of the land.

I pause to watch the boys dragging the bodies. They could be a bit gentler but I'm not even going to bother telling them. Something shifts near the edge of the water and my head snaps around quickly. A familiar tribute with mousy hair lies just by the river. I frown. Wasn't Rinn over by District 3's girl earlier…?

As I watch, Rinn stretches her arms out in front of her and drags herself towards the river, trying to keep her body as still as possible. I almost burst out laughing. She isn't dead! The suicidal tribute hadn't accepted her end after all. She faked her death and now is taking advantage of our distraction to make her escape! The audience must be beside themselves. I almost want to let her live. Almost.

She reaches out and fixes her fingers around the strap of a stray pack. If I hadn't seen her move I would've thought she'd died that way. I see her shift like she's about to jump up…and escape.

"Hey! Rinn!" I shout and raise the bow. "I see you!"

Rinn yelps and lunges into the river. She goes under as I fire an arrow. It lands in the water and so does the next one I shoot and we wait. Then crimson blood stains the water and her body floats to the surface with an arrow sticking out of her back.

Pisces swims out to retrieve her body, then the body of the boy from 5 from further down, while Jules drives a sword into the hearts of each of the other tributes, making sure they're really dead.

"She wasn't dead." I explain before Sawyer or Silk can ask. "She just faked it and tried to escape that way. That must be why no cannons were fired yet."

"Arno, bring her over." Jules shouts.

Arno hasn't moved from Leona's side since he knelt beside her. Was she really that important to him? Or was his vigil just a tradition in his district? All the same, he's not acting like most tributes from his district would.

Arno sighs heavily and gently picks his partner's limp body up. He carries her over and delicately places her amongst the other fallen tributes, making sure to close her eyes. Then he straightens, squares his shoulders, and marches back over to us, looking very grim. "I'm hunting tonight."

"I'm going with you." I say.

"I'll stay behind." Silk says. "I don't trust Sawyer to guard the supplies."

Sawyer shrugs, not offended. "Alright, whatever. I want to get a good idea of the arena."

Just then the cannons start to fire. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven shots go off, one for each deceased tribute. They had to wait until all the fighting was over before they could fire the cannons. Now all the surviving tributes know how many went down today. Tonight they'll find out who each cannon shot was for. I picture one of my competitors smirking as s/he sees Leona's face in the sky just as I'm sure I will when I see my kills.

I make sure to go out and collect the arrows from the two tributes I fired at so they wouldn't be removed when the hovercraft collects their bodies later on.

For the rest of the day we sort through the bounty of supplies. There are many packages and cans of food, as well as boxes and barrels of fruits, more loaves of bread than I care to count, weapons of all sorts but noticeably more spears than anything, plus a shiny gold trident that I'm itching to use, backpacks, sleeping bags, two tents, containers of medical supplies. Pots and pans, dozens of water containers, some full and some not, bottles of water purification liquid, extra clothes, rope, wire, nets, and what I recognize to be night vision goggles. I find a pair of fingerless gloves and I slip them on before anyone can object and once they're on, no one does.

During that time, a hovercraft comes and collects the bodies one by one.

We put most of the supplies back into the Cornucopia and it's Pisces' idea to cover the entrance with nets and tie pots and pans to certain places so it can't be opened without attracting attention. We all test it out and not one of us is able to sneak into the supplies without alerting the others.

Next we set up camp. A ring of sleeping bags that surround the fire Sawyer starts. We each have a pack tucked into the bottom of our bags just in case we need to make a quick escape for some reason. In the arena you never know what could happen in the next minute.

Around sundown, Jules, Arno, Pisces, Sawyer, and I load up and get ready. We leave one pair of night vision goggles with Silk and Arno and Sawyer get our pairs. Once we cross the river and enter the forest it becomes quickly clear that the land is not a swamp as I had originally thought. There was too much dry ground and the water wasn't very deep.

Once the sky is fully dark the anthem begins to blare and the Capitol seal shines overhead. Hovercrafts fly overhead now carrying a gigantic screen that displays the image we can see through the treetops. The seal vanishes then Leona's face shines brightly in the sky for a few moments, enough time for all of us to see her face and district number, then she's gone forever and Whisp from 3 replaces her, followed by the boy from 5, Rinn and Liam from 6, the girl from 10, and the boy from 12. Then the Capitol seal returns and the anthem comes to a close. The seal vanishes and we're left in absolute silence for a few seconds as we all hold our breath, waiting.

Then the animals start to chatter again. An owl hoots. Crickets chip. Frogs croak. The world is alive.

I let out my breath and push a stray hair out of my face. "Shall we continue?"

We can't use torchlight without alerting any of the other tributes so we're relying solely on Sawyer and Arno to warn us what's underfoot. As the night goes on my eyes adjust and thanks to the moonlight filtering through the trees I can see where I'm going.

It must be well after midnight by now and my feet are killing me. We haven't seen any sign of anyone.

"I think we should start to loop around and head back." I say.

"I agree." Arno says.

We turn to the left and head that way for several hours. Eventually we come across a river flowing away from the Cornucopia. We decide it's best to follow it because any tribute who was in the area would seek out this river.

After nearly an hour of following the river, we begin to see signs of human presence. Tracks by the river bed, a bush picked clean of berries, and a bit of blood. We find the tribute lying under a bush. Natin from District 3.

I take a knife from my belt to deliver a swift death, but Jules, apparently, has other plans. He lights a torch and the sudden light startles the boy awake. With a yelp he scrambles back and tries to run.

Pisces catches him and shoves him to the ground. Natin is shaking from head to toe as he stares up at us. "Please, please don't!"

"Did you kill Leona?" Jules asks in an obviously fake, sweet voice. Why does _he_ care?

Natin shakes his head quickly. "No, no! I didn't kill anyone! Please don't kill me, I can help you!"

I snort. "This sniveling brat couldn't hurt anyone, let alone Leona." I say as if this information was our soul purpose for hunting him. "Just kill him and get it over with."

"No! Please! I know things! I can help!"

"Does anyone object to me giving the audience a small…show?" Jules looks around at us.

"Yes!"

"I didn't ask you, District 3."

"You said 'anyone' and I'm someone!" he protests. "You think you're so much better than the rest of us 'cause you're some pampered lapdog, but you're just a tribute like me!" He must know his death is only moments away and I have to admire him for his sudden courage.

Yet, I grip the hilt of my dagger tighter and shake my head. Might as well see how far Jules is willing to go when he's as angry as he is now. The others have no objections but I imagine he would've done it anyway.

Natin tries to escape again, aiming for the space between Sawyer and me. I lash out and the force of my blade sends him reeling backwards. He puts his hand to his cheek and when he pulls it back it's covered in blood. A gash runs from his temple to his chin and blood drips down his face, mixing with tears of fear and pain.

Jules slashes downward with his sword. A long gash appears in Natin's shirt and blood pours out. He screams in agony and falls backwards. Jules slashes him again in the opposite direction, forming an 'X.' Then he makes another slash on Natin's face, forming another X with the gash I'd made.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Sawyer's face is emotionless, but there is definite terror in her eyes and she looks a bit green. I roll my eyes, trying to seem indifferent. Jules continues to make X's on Natin and the dying boy cries in agony.

"Oh shut him up." I snap when Natin's wailing stops momentarily as he draws a breath. "He'll scare off any other tributes in a ten mile radius!"

"Shame." Is all Jules says, then he drives the sword into the center of the X on Natin's stomach. He pulls it out and smirks.

The cannon fires. Natin is dead. Any one who fell asleep is now wide awake, either running or looking around to see if the killer was anywhere nearby. Silk is probably smirking.

I kneel down to search him for supplies. There's nothing really good, only a loaf of bread which I divide up between the five of us. We move away from the body and snack on the bread, sipping from our water bottles. A bird gives a single-note warning cry and we watch as the hovercraft appears, the hooks descending, and carries Natin up inside of it then vanishes it.

"Let's keep moving." Pisces points in the general direction of the Cornucopia.

I'll admit that I thought finding tributes would be easier and I want to slap myself for my stupidity. I'd underestimated my opponents and that was one of the most dangerous mistakes one could make in the arena. I can't do that again. No one is to be underestimated. Not even the brown-haired, sleepy girl who walks beside me. I _know_ that if it comes down to it, I can kill her, but I'll have to make sure she doesn't kill me first.

"Who did you kill at the Cornucopia?" I ask her curiously.

She blinks and looks at me. "Oh," she murmurs. "Um…no one."

I raise one eyebrow. "Seven tributes went down including Leona…and you're telling me not one was by your hand?"

She shook her head and actually looked a bit embarrassed. "Not a one. I'm not sure most of them knew what to make of me. Garret, that boy from District 8, would've been my first kill if he hadn't run."

_Maybe, or maybe he would've gotten you_.

"Hey," Pisces says suddenly. "What's that?"

We follow his finger and I see what he's pointing at. It's a large clearing, an island in the middle surrounded by a small river, practically identical to the place where the Games began yesterday. The only thing missing is a golden horn.

"I want a closer look." I announce and slip through the trees towards it. I hop over a small pool of water and creep to the edge of the trees and glance around cautiously. I don't see anything, but there could be hidden triggers to something horrible. I tiptoe out onto the grass towards the water.

I know immediately that I cannot enter the water. It churns with a powerful current that could sweep away a powerful swimmer like me with ease. Clearly there is something important over on that island. That or they don't want anyone over there yet. I take a step closer to the water and a head breaks the surface. I scream and leap back. A lizard the size of a Great White rises from the water propelled by scaly wings, blood red eyes glowing, horrible jaws part revealing rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth and clawed hands curled by it's sides.

I scurry back to the trees before I remember my weapons and I draw two knives, ready to throw them. The lizard hovers just barely out of the water and makes a horrible hissing noise before slowly sinking back into the water, leaving no trace that it had emerged.

My hands are shaking but I somehow manage to stow my weapons and I grip a nearby tree for support. Something glints on the island. I don't dare go any closer than the tree line so I pick a sturdy enough tree and climb up a few feet to get a better look.

Plates. Sixteen metal plates spread evenly around the edge of the island. One for each tribute left alive. Somehow, I know we won't find anyone else tonight, that the Gamemakers are planning something.

"What the fuck was that?" Jules hisses when I return to the group.

"A muttation." I say grimly. "It's guarding that island."

"What's on it?" Sawyer asks curiously.

"Sixteen metal plates like the ones from the Cornucpia." I say. "Nothing else seems to be there."

"There's got to be something pretty freaking special about them." Pisces deduces. "Or else Ol' Scaly wouldn't be there."

"Why didn't it kill you?" Arno asks incredulously.

"Disappointed?" I raise one eyebrow.

He chuckles.

"I don't think it's programmed to attack." Sawyer muses. "Otherwise it would've charged. It's probably just a guard."

"Unless it's attack range is only a few feet from the water's edge." Pisces points out. "We do have contraptions like that back home. It prevents people from entering the water at certain places or even getting too close. Especially if there is a bad current nearby like the Fate."

I nod in agreement.

"Well standing here and talking about it isn't going to do us any good. Come on." Jules barks and marches away. I scowl but follow him anyway. Bossy fish-brain.

My earlier prediction was correct. We find no more tributes on the way back to camp. Not even a trace of one save a few tracks from a tribute fleeing the Cornucopia.

When we finally make it back to camp we all gratefully collapse into our sleeping bags. Silk, munching on an energy bar, congratulates us on our kill and asks who it was. Jules brags about how he killed Natin and is still going on about it when she finally tunes him out.

"So how were things around here?" I ask loudly, cutting Jules off and earning a reproachful glare from him.

Silk shrugs. "Quiet except for the animals."

Arno explains to her in a hushed voice about what we saw on the island. I lay in my sleeping bag, exhausted, listening to the gentle hum of their voices until sleep overtakes me.

"Dylan. Dylan, wake up." Someone coos softly.

"Whozat?" I mumble sleepily and take a deep breath. The smells of the forest hit me and I jump up, wide awake, with a knife poised to kill—

Sawyer recoils sharply, holding her hands up in surrender. "Hey, hey, calm down!"

I twirl the knife around my fingers then shove it in my belt. "Sorry. What time is it?"

"Somewhere around sunset, maybe a half hour to go. I took over watch around noon. You're on guard duty for tonight so I decided to wake you now."

"Oh."

Guard duty? Damn! They must've decided that when I was asleep!

"How's everything looking?" I ask.

"All quiet." She reports. "No one would dare coming in this early in the game. There's too many of us."

Ten minutes later, Sawyer is dozing off and I'm preparing dinner for us. Beef stew, canned peaches, water, and bread. The smell of the cooking meat makes my mouth water. Except for that snack last night, I haven't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.

Suddenly, the sound of trumpets fills the air. I whip out the metal spoon I'm stirring the soup with to use as a weapon and my allies are awake instantly, properly armed and ready to kill. The trumpets fade and Claudius Templesmith, the famous announcer of the Hunger Games, is speaking to us.

"Hello everyone! Congratulations! You've all made it through the first two days! It is now time for the real fun to begin."

He sounds amused. Sawyer and I exchange a look.

"At dawn, all sixteen of you must gather on an island located near the middle of the arena. You will find sixteen plates and you are to stand on the one with your district number."

"Yeah right!" I snort. "I'm not going into Ol' Scaly's territory."

"Now," Claudius goes on. "I know some of you are wondering what's going on and are not even going to bother listening to me. That's fine. You don't have to go. But by dawn, that island will be the only dry place left in the arena."

I look down at the river. Yes...yes...it's coming closer. The others have noticed this too and Sawyer lets a tiny whimper escape. I glance at Pisces and see a smirk on his face. This is going to be our kind of place.

"And one last thing," Claudius says. "Whatever harm you inflict on someone from now until sunrise will rebound on you seven-fold."

"They _don't_ want us to kill anyone?" Arno snorts. "What is this crap?"

"Happy traveling, tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favor." There's a bit of static and all's quiet once again.

"Well...you heard him." Jules sighs. "Let's go, guys."

"Travel heavy." I instruct in the tone I usually reserve for the boat deck. "We don't know if we can come back here and this place is gonna flood. We could lose the supplies."

Half an hour later we're packed, the nets over the Cornucopia have been firmly fastened, and we stand on the waterline. As I stand there the water creeps forward, sliding around my feet. Pisces and I go first to test the water. There is definitely a current now, but it feels gentle. We exchange a look. I incline my head in the direction of the current. He nods.

The two of us slip on our night vision glasses and lead the pack along with the current.

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**I'll bet you want to know what's going on!**

**Review/fav/tell your friends.  
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	10. Ally

**:) And this is where my Games become original.**

**Holy craps o.o look at all the tributes being cast! Anyone notice how all but two of the guys have black hair? O_o  
**

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"This is killing my hair!"

I grit my teeth. If Silk says that again I'm going to slap her silly. This is not the place to worry about how you look.

Silk flounders around a bit then manages to grip the tree enough to keep herself above water. Sawyer, too, is clinging to the tree like a squirrel. The boys, at least, try to seem dignified while gripping a tree like a lifeline. Only Pisces and I casually tread water as we survey the area.

It's not like I didn't believe Claudius. When the Gamemakers decree something then it's going to happen. If they decide that they want the entire arena to burst into flames then, dammit, it will burst into flames! If they want muttations to chase all the tributes together then that'll happen. And if they decide to flood the arena then, well, you better believe they will.

But I'll admit that I am a bit surprised how high the water is by the time we reach the island. It's over my head now and I'm one of the tallest female tributes. Silk and Sawyer are tied to me by a rope so I can guide them through the water. Pisces and I exchange frustrated looks every thirty seconds or so as another complaint is issued by one of our allies. They've been conditioned to kill for years and years…and they can't handle a little water? What's up with that?

We float near the tree line and watch the island apprehensively. Ol' Scaly hasn't shown his face yet, but how long will that last? Do we have to fight our way across or is he gone?

"We should just get up there." Arno grumbles. "Before this water gets too high!"

_Too _high? I've swam in water that's so deep that the pressure near the bottom is enough crush boats like rotten oranges. He, like the others, is what we in District 4 call a landlubber. Water to him is completely alien.

"Alright, but if that thing jumps us I'm letting it eat you first," I warn him and kick off from the tree. Sawyer yelps as she's yanked away from her tree and she swallows a pint of water. Silk goes under and when she surfaces she snarls out curses, insulting me, my mother, and every last one of us "swimmers." I lean forward a bit more and kick up some water in her face.

We make it to the island without being attacked and I help them out of the water onto the slippery ground. I untie the ropes and stow them in my bag while they ring their hair and clothes out, removing their boots to empty the little water that got inside then march over to their plates.

I squeeze my hair out as much as I can without taking it down then I leave the rest for the sun to dry. I stand on one of the District 4 plates and Pisces joins me a moment later. He looks rather content compared to our disgruntled allies. I can't help but smile and he grins back.

"Landlubbers," I roll my eyes and earn a reproachful glare from Jules who, at least, is smart enough to recognize and insult when he hears one.

About a minute later, another tribute appears, floundering through the water. Years of seeing people soaking wet has made me good at identifying hair colors. The female approaching us most likely has reddish brown hair when she's dry. ...Looks like...Annalee from District 5.

How is she even swimming? I doubt they have a lake to practice swimming in _that_ district. Maybe something in our clothes is buoyant... I'm still mulling it over as she scrambles onto land and takes her place on the plate next to mine.

Her eyes flick around, taking in our group members, and she swallows nervously. I don't blame her. If I hadn't been assured a slow and painful end, I would've killed her the moment she got within shooting range. I'm not the only one. She starts shivering after a few seconds and, out of uncharacteristic pity, I mutter with unmoving lips: "Wring your clothes out."

She glances up at me then cautiously begins to squeeze the water out of her jacket and shirt. Her only weapon seems to be a small knife and other than a bottle of water tied to her waist by a rope, she has no supplies.

The next to come are the pair from District 9. Weapons out and expressions wary, they scamper across the island to their plates. Then Lister comes, followed by Fleece a few minutes later, and Proy comes about half a minute after her. Proy gives Sawyer a look of pure hatred and loathing and snarls something to her after a few seconds on his plate. She snaps back, her hand twitching towards the axe on her belt. Hara skitters onto the island about a minute later and then we wait in silence for about twenty minutes.

Dawn is creeping steadily closer and Skyler finally shows as the sky is starting to turn pink. The District 8 tributes need to hurry.

They show up just in the nick of time. Ellery looks tired and is riding piggyback on Garret. My mouth falls open in shock. Being allies is one thing. Protecting a friend is, too. But piggyback rides in the middle of the Hunger Games? What if they'd been ambushed? Even one-armed Fleece could've taken them out before they knew what hit them. Garret should just kill the little girl quickly and be done with it.

They're barely on their plates when the sun breaks through the horizon and as Ellery's feet touch the metal, the water begins to recede. We all watch the water level drop and drop and drop until, just a minute or so later, the water has completely gone except for the now current free river surrounding this island.

"Freaky." Pisces mutters and I nod. I've seen some pretty fast moving tides in my childhood, but that was just ridiculous! The others have little to compare it to, but most of them seem shocked.

The idea of the Gamemakers controlling the tides and currents in the arena freaks me out. We, Pisces and I, have always been taught that the water is merciless. It may tolerate you for a time but at any moment it could claim you and add you to the endless collection of dead accumulated throughout time. The Gamemakers do not deserve that power...yet they have it anyway. I feel my face flushing with rage and I realize I have my teeth clenched so tightly that they hurt. The trumpets begin to blare.

"Welcome!" Claudius greets us.

I wipe my face of all emotion except impatience.

"I am glad you all decided to come!" I'll bet he is. "There is been a slight addition to this years Games. Are you ready?"

"Do we have a choice?" the young tribute beside me mutters.

"You are each going to have an ally who you will depend on for survival. If you die, your ally will die. If you ally dies then you die. Ladies you will each select a plate. That plate will have the district number of your new partner on it. As soon as you each have a partner then you are free to do whatever you like."

Translation: Truce over, get back to killing each other.

This also means that the Career alliance is over. I look up at Pisces and I can tell the same thought is crossing his mind. He gives me a regretful look. _Sorry but we're enemies now. _

But where are we supposed to get these plates? Are they just going to fall out of the sky?

No. They're on the table that rises from the ground in the middle of the island. I wait until the table clicks into place then I fly forward. Maybe we were supposed to wait or maybe the mad rush is exactly what they want. I reach forward and snag a random plate then leap away from the table so the others aren't tempted to take a stab at me while they collect their plates.

My curiosity melts into horror when I read the number on the plate.

8.

District 8. District freaking no-nature-or-chance-to-learn-survival-skills 8. Garret Kollin, the boy who gets kisses at the reaping and gives out piggy-back rides.

This isn't..._fair!_

I want a new plate! No, too late. They're all taken. Nothing to do now but work with what I've got. I whirl and sprint towards Garret. He sees me coming and glances around nervously.

"Move!" I growl, shoving him off his plate towards the water.

The others seem to realize that this could shape up to be another bloodbath because I hear a commotion stirring behind me. Garret turns back to look and I shove him into the water.

"Wait!" he looks at me. "Ellery—?"

"Forget her!" I push him along towards the shore. "Just move it! I don't plan on dying here! She's got someone taking care of her, now go!"

He looks over my head again and I ram into him, sending him floundering across the water. We climb out and I take off running. He seems to have enough sense to know he needs to follow. I hear him keeping up with me and I'm glad because I want to get back to the Cornucopia fast. If we get there first then we can snag some supplies and be on our way before someone else shows up.

A cannon fires and I freeze, looking back towards the island. Garret does, too, and we wait. For another cannon that signifies the death of the dead tribute's ally. Instead we hear a high-pitched screaming. And I know who it is. Only one person is capable of screaming like that.

"Ellery!" Garret shouts, distraught. He looks ready to sink to the ground so I slap him right across the face.

"Get a hold of yourself, moron!" I snap. "This is the Hunger Games! There's no saving her now, she's done. We have to go now! If we can get to the Cornucopia first then we can get some of the supplies because, let's face it, you know as much about nature as a whale knows about dry land."

As I finish, the wailing of the youngest tribute cuts off and a cannon is fired. No more Ellery.

For a moment, I picture the little girl in my imagination from the night of the interviews. Ellery's little sister must be crying, now, holding the teddy bear. The pictures on their walls that will never be completed…bare spaces where her art never got a chance to reach…

Garret sighs sadly and presses his forefinger to his forehead then touches his heart. "Good bye, little one." he murmurs then looks up at me with an angry expression. "Fine. Let's go."

In a way, I'm actually glad Ellery is dead. She was his weakness. With her gone he can focus on the Games and not worry about whether the next pair of tributes we find will contain his district partner.

We fly through the woods towards the Cornucopia, slowing down only a bit to conserve energy, then we speed up again. Without the rising water the trip takes much less time than it did last night and we make it to the golden horn about an hour and a half after we departed the island.

We don't see anyone on the way back but I have no doubt that we aren't the only ones en rout. We are the first ones to arrive, though, and the moment I climb out of the water I'm racing towards the Cornucopia and cut the netting open. Despite the flooding, none of the supplies seem too damaged. The nets probably saved it from being washed away. I grab two packs and hand one to Garret.

"Load food, water, medical supplies, fire starters, and all that. I'll get the other stuff. Hurry, someone else could show up at any minute."

He nods and gets to work. I load blades of all sorts, a few cooking utensils, some socks and gloves, fishing line, and I swing another quiver and a bow onto my back.

From the woods I hear someone yelp in pain.

"Go, go!" I gasp and Garret flies out of the golden horn. I'm about to follow when a golden glint catches my eye. The one and only trident in this arena. My hand moves automatically and I flee the Cornucopia with my district's signature weapon. I look in the direction of noise and see Arno heading across the water with Sterra of District 9 hurrying after him, clutching her arm to her chest.

He got District 9? Poor guy. I give him a friendly salute and hurry across the river. I hear the whizzing of a weapon behind me but I'm long gone by the time it hits the spot where I'd been.

I'm not sure how long Garret and I run after that. I've not been in this area of the arena before. If we hadn't gone towards the island last night then this would've been our hunting ground. We eventually stop beside a large river to rest.

I set down all the supplies and instruct him to do the same. While I sort through it he hovers anxiously nearby. I look up at him expectantly and he just stares.

"Help me." I snap after another minute of working solo. He sits down and helps me separate the food, weapons, and other items.

"I'm...Garret. Garret Kollin." he says timidly. "You're Dylan."

"Dylan Syle." I confirm and smile a bit. "Don't call me Dilly."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Good."

We work in silence for a few more minutes and I sigh. It doesn't take a genus to know who's on his mind. "Was Ellery a friend?"

"Yeah, sort of. I mean, her Dad knows my Dad, and we've talked a few times. I did have to baby sit her and her little siblings some times, you know, before I got old enough to work in the factory."

I nod. "And what about Julie?"

He looks down at his work, probably to hide his face from the cameras.

"What? Catfish got your tongue?"

He snickers. "Catfish? Isn't that a little…weird?"

"Isn't avoiding my question a little annoying?"

He scowls. "Touché. I said it all at the interview. She's a really good friend of mine."

"_Just_ a friend?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. But since I'm going to die here, why bother thinking about something that can never happen?"

I nod, actually feeling sorry. Not that I'd ever admit it. "Fair point."

He smiles a bit, seeming to like my easy attitude. "You know, there was a rumor flying around the Training Center that you—"

I look up sharply and arch one eyebrow. He hesitates, suddenly unsure. "Go on." I command.

"That you and Finnick, erm…"

He trails off and my mouth falls open in horror. Finnick is probably having a _real_ good laugh about this! I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill that no-good, salt-ridden, Capitol-pet, _asshole!_

My rage must reflect on my face because my "ally" raises his hands in the traditional 'Whoa Nelly' fashion. "Hey! Don't shoot the messenger!"

I seethe and bare my teeth. "That is not true. He's an arrogant self-centered…_eel_!"

"Eel?"

I ignore him. "Ugh! Let's get this straight really quickly. Finnick is _just a friend_ from my childhood. He's just a kid I used to beat up after he put fish guts down our shirts. _Nothing_ has ever or will _ever_ happen between us as long as I have any say in the matter. I do not have any feelings like that for him."

Near the end, I'm actually speaking to Annie Cresta back home. She'd be crushed if she thought I was hitting on Finnick.

"Ok, alright." He surrenders. "Calm down. I just wanted to know."

I snort but I'm glad he told me. Best to nip something like that in the bud as quickly as possible.

We work in silence after that. He has the sense to not pry into my personal life and I really am not interested in finding out more about him. Not at the moment, anyway.

Once the supplies are sorted I hand him some bread, an apple, and a bottle of water, then take the same for me. "We need to keep moving," I say between bites of the bread.

"Where to?"

"Have you been in this part of the arena yet?"

He shakes his head.

"Then we'll just follow the river and see where it takes us."

He nods and rises to his feet then holds his hand out politely. I frown and stand on my own. He raises his eyebrows then puts his hand on the hilt of the sword in his belt. I stuff knives into my belt and give him one quiver and a bow and keep the other one on my back.

"I can't work these," he warns.

"I don't need you to," I say. "I just need you to carry them in case I need them."

"I really don't want to get on your bad side," he comments while examining my array of weapons, his eyes lingering on the trident.

I smirk. "No, no you don't."

Several hours of walking along the river later I decide we can stop again. No one would be able to sneak up on us without making a splash so I'm not too worried. I tie two lengths of rope to a tree branch and then tie our packs to them, hoisting them high off the ground so they can't be reached or soiled then tie them off on the tree. I left all my weapons in the packs except for the trident and a knife I secretly slip into my boot then face Garret with the trident.

"Alright, District 8, I saw you fighting Sawyer at the Cornucopia. She wasn't our best fighter but you were holding your own well enough. If you hadn't fled you might've beaten her."

"I couldn't risk it." He explains. "Not with Ellery…"

I press my lips together and bite back a few insults. Damn little girl.

"She's dead, Garret." I explain gently, as if to a child. "She's gone, never coming back. Nothing you say is going to change that. You _know_ what this arena means for most. You knew coming in here that she wasn't coming out, just like she did. If you want a chance at even making it to the final eight then you're going to have to get it together. I know how it is. I've lost friends to the waters. I've lost family. I know it hurts but you can grieve later. Right now you need to focus."

His face is virtually emotionless, a habit probably picked up from his years in the factories where Peacekeepers and superiors monitor them, from his life in a district where you're hung for stealing. In a place like that you probably need to keep a straight face nearly all the time. Not for the first time in this arena, I'm glad I'm from District 4.

He nods once.

"Alright, then, pick up your sword. Show me what you've got." I raise the trident meaningfully.

Garret eyes widen and I smirk just a bit. He picks up his sword and the blade shakes a bit. He's barely got it at the ready when I lunge. He dodges and swipes. I duck to avoid then swing the trident. Our weapons clash. I let my mind shut down and I focus only on the fight. Swing, miss, duck, swing again, jump, lunge, dodge, swing…

He's doing better than I thought until he makes a crucial error. I take advantage of it and bring the trident down, smacking him in the legs with the flat side of the fork. He loses his balance and smashes down. My trident is inches from his face before he can even move. We stay like that for a moment, me ready to stab and him staring up at me. Then I smile and stand back and hold the trident out beside me.

That took probably a full sixty seconds. Nearly fifty-five seconds longer than I'd originally assumed.

"Not bad." I say as he stands. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"When we weren't working to get some food, my friends and I used to use poles we found outside the factories for epic sword fights."

I can't help but laugh because we did similar things when growing up. For one of the first times since I got into the arena, I remember Rilee and my hand flies to my neck where her—my—okay, _our_ token still rests and I smile. I wonder if she ever played games with us when we were young. And I suddenly have a desire to know everything about her and her Hunger Games. I should've asked Tina or Alaina to get me the tape—when I get out this place I'll watch it…

"Hey! District 8 to 4, come in 4!"

"Huh?" I blink rapidly, stupidly.

"You looked miles away." He says not bothering to hide his curiosity.

"Oh I was just thinking." I admit. "We used to play games like that when I was younger."

He smiles and gives me a knowing look. "I suppose that's how you learned to fight so well?"

"Yes." I wink. "And wrestling with sharks every other day makes for good practice."

Garret laughs.

That night we set up camp just a few hundred yards from the river. I want to campout in a tree but Garret doesn't. I fight with him about it—verbal only—and I finally tell him he can stay down on the ground for all I care but I would be up in the tree. Then the idiot tries to start a campfire and I have to chew him out and remind him that just because the Career's have disbanded doesn't mean he can relax. We're all still alive and some of the others, especially Jules and maybe Arno by now, will be hunting tonight.

He makes a face. "The _what's_?"

"The Careers...don't you all call us that?" I frown. I thought that became the universal name for us ages ago.

His eyes flicker with understanding. "Oh. We call you the Bloodhounds. Bloodhounds were hunting dogs a long time ago and the Capitol uses them for tracking, I think. In 8 we call you guys the Bloodhounds because you hunt us all wanting to spill our blood for the victory."

For some reason, I like the name 'Career Tribute' better.

Sometime later, we watch the as the seal appears in the sky and then is replaced by a picture of Proy from 7. He must've been Ellery's partner. I wonder if Sawyer killed him. Ellery's picture replaces his and beside me, Garret makes the same gesture as earlier—forefinger to the forehead then chest—and murmurs something. Then her face vanishes and the seal reappears.

I get the logic behind their ally plan, now. The Games will drag out longer but when a death comes, another will surely follow. Knowing the Gamemakers, they'll want as much blood spilt as possible. They'll have put something in place to render the partner helpless until he or she is finished off. Judging by Ellery's screaming I'd say something incapacitated her before she could be killed. And whatever it was it hurt like hell.

That makes my eyes widen and my mind flicks back to the hovercraft, where something else hurt like hell.

"Of course…" I whisper.

"What?" he tilts his head.

"Those chips they put into our arms." I say. "The one that wasn't a tracker, it's got something to do with this, I know it!"

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. There had to be something to stop tributes from killing their ally and it's the promise of death. Ellery screamed after Proy's cannon. She was in agony and you know it. Something caused her that kind of pain and I just don't think it was another tribute. It was that other chip."

"Do you think it killed her?"

"No…they would want another tribute to do it. That way there's blood."

"That…" he frowns. "I can see why you'd say that…it does make sense…but…it just seems way too easy to figure out. I think they'd find it more...thrilling to have us working to figure out why the partners die, too."

"Well, then, let's give them a show."

"What?"

"We test my theory. We'll be getting some insight on what we're dealing with, be eliminating some competitors, and be entertaining the Capitol at the same time."

"Dylan..." he looks horrified that I've suggested something like that.

"Start a campfire. I've got a plan."

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**Tee hee. I love Garret ^^**


	11. Fight

**This chapter is dedicated to Wendy and Amber.**

**Wendy: THE WOMAN JUST BOUGHT ME A PS2! O_O Yes, I'm aware ps3s are better. But with a PS2 I can play FF VII, VIII, IX, and X 3 Plz, peeps. I still play on a Nintendo 64. PS2 is like AWESOME to me :D **

**Amber: I missed ya hun ^^ It was great to see you. And I hope you're enjoying the story so far. (She read the earlier, crappier drafts off this way back when I first wrote em)**

**Sorry this took so long to get up. I've finished school now so I have more time for writing.  
**

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The plan is to lure a hunter, like Jules, here with a campfire. Garret will wait beside it pretending to be asleep—at least he is supposed to pretend, I know he falls asleep a few times—while I wait in a tree to watch and ambush. No one falls for it, though, and by dawn I'm really tired and ticked off. Thanks to his naps last night, he's more energized than I am and I make Garret stand guard while I catch a few Zs in a tree.

When I wake up the sky is bright and I figure it must be mid-afternoon. Below me, Garrett is cooking some meat. I slide down from the tree and when I land he gasps and throws a fork at me. I catch it with ease. We stare at each other for a second, then a grin breaks over his face.

"Morning, Sunshine." He teases and I scowl.

"Hey, relax. I'm just kidding, honestly."

I still continue to scowl. "Did anything happen?"

"I'm sure a cannon would've woken you up."

"Point," I surrender and decide to be friendly because I'm going to be stuck with this boy for a while and I need him ready to cooperate at all times. My life depends on this boy.

I hate him for it.

"So, what's on today's agenda?" he asks me. He has already surrendered the leadership position, whether he's realized it or not.

"Well, for one, we need to travel. The others are on the move and staying in one place for too long could be fatal. So pack up the stuff and let's get going."

"Aye, aye, Captain." I raise my eyebrows and he smiles nervously. "Never mind."

We eat the canned beef he cooked then load up the stuff and head to the river. We stop to wash the cooking utensils off then we set out, keeping several yards away from the river at all times. We wonder aimlessly for three days, talking casually or not talking at all, me teaching him what I can about the world around us, practicing sparring, sleeping, eating, running.

I learn more about him than I did in the interviews. He's the younger of two kids, his older sister works in a shirt factory with his mother, and his father was one of the lucky few who worked at the station where they handled and sorted the few imported goods. It paid decent money, Garret's one reassurance that his family will be all right once he's gone. He talks about Julie a bit.

I have plenty of time to study him better. He's well built from years of working the big machines and has good reflexes. He also has blonde tints in his brown hair that become more and more apparent as the hours go by. His eyes seem more emerald now that I can see him up close. He is, ok I'll admit it, handsome. Not that I'm interested.

Garret, if anything, is a fast learner. He actually manages to cut me during a small skirmish. I'm ready to praise him for achieving a nearly impossible feat for someone at his level, but then he starts blabbering out apologizes and _tends_ to _my _wound. I allow him to treat it, though, because he seems to know what he's doing, but I'm positively fuming the whole time. I do decide to cut the soft boy some slack, though. Maybe he wouldn't treat an opponent like that. Maybe it's because I'm his ally. Or maybe it's because I'm a girl. He does seem to have a soft spot for girls.

No cannons sound, however. I'm getting worried. While our little training sessions _must_ be entertaining to some, we're not dishing out any serious fighting or blood. There's been plenty of time for everyone to place bets, sign sponsor deals, and get bored. Either we find someone soon or the Gamemakers will force some action. I don't dare warn Garret in case they get any ideas. He's no idiot, though. He's watched the Games all his life. He knows how it goes. I have to keep reminding myself of that.

"I think we need to step up our game," Garret jokes during the afternoon of the sixth day.

I roll my eyes. "Pun not appreciated."

"No, really, we need to…I guess…we need to really hunt. …Hunt tributes, I mean."

My eyebrows go up so high I'm sure they vanish into my hair. I catch myself quickly and look away, pretending to be bored. "Why?"

"You know why," He says grimly. Yes, I know. But can he do it?

"If we fight a pair of tributes you'll have to fight them, too," I remind him.

"I know."

Garret's right, though. We find a weeping willow tree near a small pond and I climb up as high as I can to secure our packs and the few weapons we're leaving behind. It's risky, but it's easier to go into battle without baggage. The willow provides an easy cover for our supplies and an easy landmark for us to identify.

I've gotten Garret to a somewhat acceptable level with a bow so he carries a bow and quiver as well as his sword. I don't honestly expect him to use the archery equipment, but it's useful as he'll have it there in case I need it. I keep most of the knives concealed in my jacket, pockets, and boots and the trident fastened to my back with a net.

We walk along, munching on our little feast of bread and jerky, sipping small amounts of water every so often. Once our food is gone I tuck my water bottle into my belt. Then the real tracking begins. Garret stays behind me, his excellent ears listening for the sounds of other tributes. Years of working and living around loud machines have given him incredible hearing in the silence. I'll never admit it to anyone, but I think it's better than mine.

"Hey, listen!" he hisses just as my ears register the sound of metal clanging in the distance.

I narrow my eyes and stare into the general direction of the noise. "Let's check it out. It might be a fight," I decide after a moment and we creep towards the clanging sounds.

We're in a very wet part of the arena so I have to help Garret leap across the tree roots sticking out of the ground. I know better than to go into still water where the bottom can't be seen. Going in there is just asking for something to eat you.

It is a fight. We keep low to the ground as we creep towards the clashing tributes. My eyes widen when I see the boys in the conflict. Jules and Arno are going at it like these two pirates on a television show they play in our district. Sterra from 9 is fighting Hara from 12 nearby. Both pairs seem very evenly matched. I motion for Garret to get behind a tree about thirty yards from the fight and we watch, concealed behind the foliage.

Hara is tiring quickly and I can see the unadulterated fear on her face from all the way over here. She thinks that her life is about to end. But then Jules lashes out at Sterra, who stumbles away, which gives Hara the chance to leap forward and ram a knife into Sterra's heart. The dark haired girl screams in agony and sinks to the ground, yanking the knife out of her chest. She gasps down air, staring up at Hara for her last few moments, then whimpers out Barlee's name and goes still.

Sterra's cannon fires.

Arno stops fighting and goes rigid, his head jerking back. His body shakes and an agonized scream bursts from his throat. He sinks to the ground, screaming and thrashing in agony. Jules just stands there for a moment, not even looking at his ally who has collapsed beside the body of the tribute she killed; instead his eyes are fixed on our former ally, enjoying his internal torture.

Without warning, he kneels down beside Arno and grasps his right arm. Shockingly, Arno stops lashing around and just lies there, gasping and panting. For a second, I'm confused. I look down at my right arm, then up at Arno's arm. Oh. Of course. That chip they put in our right arms. It has something to do with this.

Jules smiles. "Let's have a little chat, eh Arno?"

Arno snarls out a series of words even I don't dare repeat.

"Hey, now, blame the Gamemakers, not me."

"What do you want?" Arno growls. Weaponless, still weak from whatever pain he'd been in, Arno isn't really in any condition to demand anything, but Jules seems happier.

"I want to kill you." Jules says.

"Then just get it over with already."

"Oh no. I want the audience to remember this." Jules says. "I wanted to kill you first, but there were two perfect opportunities to eliminate others that I had to move you to third."

Arno actually looks as confused as I feel. Jules has killed two tributes? Unless Proy or Ellery was his second kill, I could only think of one tribute dying by his hand.

"Leona," Jules explains patiently and a wicked smirk appears on his face. "Her back was to me...she was just too easy."

Arno looks beyond rage. I realize I, too, am gripping the hilt of a long knife in my belt. That dirty coward. Jules will die here and now. I look over at Garret and his eyes widen when he sees my expression. "Jules is _mine_." I mouth.

He nods, understanding.

"—such a waste, too." Jules is saying. "Your district is losing its touch. I was hoping for a half decent fight. Roll over or I'll kick you over. You don't get to die on your back."

Arno lets out a bellow of rage and tries to launch himself at Jules. His legs give out and he goes back down. Ignoring his own words, Jules drives the sword straight into Arno's chest. The boy from District 2 doesn't even grimace. He just stares up at Jules with undying hatred as his chest stills forever and he dies.

The cannon sounds. Jules laughs. Hara starts to cry, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Stop crying, idiot." Jules snaps.

Hara looks up at him and blurts out, "I murdered her!"

"Yes, and you did an excellent job of it, by the way." he congratulates her. "Now check the packs for supplies." Hara obeys, crawling over to the backpacks Arno and Sterra had abandoned during the fight. I wait until Jules, cocky as ever, kneels down to carve his signature X marks into Arno.

I look over at Garret and motion him forward. I don't wait to see if he obeys and I emerge from my hiding place and creep forward. Every viewer must be holding their breath, waiting, except for in District 1 and District 12 where they probably scream for Jules or Hara to turn around and see death coming for them in the form of a seriously ticked off redhead and her ally.

I grip the knife and take aim.

A silver parachute descends from the sky and makes a quiet thump on the ground.

Jules and Hara spin around, see me standing there, knife at the ready. Jules spews out a curse word at the same time Hara screams. Garret rushes past me to get at the District 12 girl, blade raised.

I throw the knife and Jules ducks just in time. He barrel rolls to his feet, grabbing his sword on the way. I whip out two long daggers and stop the blade before it can cut my head off. We're both grunting with exertion and I feel my face heating up. I take a deep breath and jump back. It takes him half a second to recover and he looks furious. He swings and I dodge, skittering away. I tuck the daggers into my pocket and yank the trident off my back.

We're pretty evenly matched, now. My mind empties except for all thoughts of battle, one of the perks of training merging with a major adrenaline rush. I get close enough to rake my nails across his face, leaving angry read marks across the flesh. He snarls and swings. The butt of my trident blocks what could most defiantly sever major arteries, but I have no chance to stop a fierce kick to my lower calf.

I gasp.

I lose balance immediately and fall back to the ground, resisting the urge to grab at my leg. I see curiosity flicker on his face at my sudden weakness but he doesn't pause to ask what's wrong. Biting back whimpers of pain, I try to stand and raise the trident up to defend myself. Jules raises his sword to deliver a blow or knock my weapon away. I'll never know which because he never gets the chance.

Before I can brace myself, Garret's there, screaming wordless rage, ramming into Jules. He knocks the sword away from Jules and just starts punching him. I turn to look for Hara. The District 12 tribute lies not too far from me, not quite dead, but nearly so. Her agonized blue eyes meet mine for a moment then the light fades from them and her cannon sounds.

I turn to look when I hear Jules agonized screams. My lips curve up into a wicked smile. Garret backs away and motions for me to proceed. From what I can see, my ally's only injury is a cut to the cheek and a bruise forming around his eye. I shakily make my way over and kneel beside Jules, pulling out a nice knife to finish the job with.

"Guess what, Jules?" I hiss as I grab his arm where the chip is. He stills and his eyes open to look at me. "You were number one on my kill list. This is for Rilee and Leona."

"Who's—" I slit his throat before I can finish the sentence and I leave him to drown in his own blood.

I wait until the cannon sounds before I move away. _Rot in the Locker, Jules._

"Are you ok?" Garret asks me.

"Check their packs for food," I order, purposely avoiding his question, "And any medical supplies or other useful stuff. Give me all the weapons you find, too."

Garret cocks his head to one side in confusion but does what I've asked, giving me a few minutes to sit down and asses the damage to my leg.

There's no blood, thank Poseidon, but that kick really messed with one of my old wounds. Probably the one Nita inflicted. Yet another reason to hate that wench. .

A silver glint catches my eye. Oh, the parachute. I hold it up for better examination and find a slender knife. My rational side says to take the knife because it could be of use later, but the knowledge that this weapon could've been intended for Jules (and served as a warning to them) makes the idea of using it for my survival very repelling. Even now I can barely stand to hold it, as if it will turn into a viper and strike me. I fling it at Jules and it imbeds in his side.

The sound makes Garret turn, wildly searching for an enemy, but I just shake my head. After two more minutes, Garret has strapped the packs onto the bodies so the useless supplies will be taken with them and I've sunk each and every one of the weapons we found into Jules body so they will be removed from the arena as well. I leave Hara's unharmed.

Garret slips off his jacket and uses it as a bag to carry the few bits of food he found plus a bottle of water purifier.

"Come on, Dylan." He hands the gold trident out to me. "Let's scat so they can get the bodies."

I purse my lips together and try to stand again. I manage to get to my feet but I can't keep the grimaces of pain off my face as my leg throbs uncontrollably. I take a few steps, using the trident to support me, then I stumble and catch myself against a tree.

"Dylan? What's wrong?"

I grit my teeth, hating the worry in his voice. "I'll explain later. Come on, let's go."

With his help, I manage to keep upright and moving, but we're going so slow that even the clumsiest tributes would be able to catch us. It's sunset when we make it back to the willow tree and I collapse once we're under the foliage.

I'm too exhausted to climb up to our supplies and Garret doesn't dare venture up more than a few feet so we share a meal made of the food we got from the others and slurp the newly-purified water.

"So, what's up with your leg?" he asks bluntly.

I sigh and give him a slightly altered version of how my leg got messed up. "Nita and I were just sparring, you know, some friendly competition on the deck while we waited to get to the fishing location, and she got my leg and arm pretty badly. She didn't mean to, but the damage was bad in my leg. I thought it healed months ago but…I guess it's a bit temperamental, still. Jules just got lucky with his kick, that's all. I should be fine soon." I try to reassure him quickly. "Just need to rest a bit and maybe do some stretches or massages. The doctors told me what to do when it acts up."

I'll bet my mentors are groaning at my blunt admittance of weakness and I'm wanting to slap myself about it, but I really need Garret to know what he might need to look out for.

The Capitol anthem begins to play and we crawl out to watch the show. Jules' face, arrogant as ever, illuminates the sky for a moment, then he's replaced by Arno, then Sterra, and finally Hara. The others must be throwing parties now that three of us Careers/Bloodhounds are dead. I smile, too. Four tributes dead in one day should keep the Capitol happy for a while. And give the rest of us time to collect ourselves. Hopefully.

"So…you say a massage will help your leg?" Garret asks after a few silent minutes. "I know a good one that—"

"Keep your hands to yourself." I practically snarl and said hands go up in the '_whoa there'_ position I'm getting used to from him.

"I wasn't going to do anything." He tells me quickly. "I just wanted to tell you about one some of the workers use."

I narrow my eyes suspiciously but nod. As long as he keeps his hands to himself I'm perfectly fine with it. He explains the procedure, using hand motions to demonstrate. In his district the workers sometimes need one of these after a long day of lifting things, working machines, and standing up. I'll bet people pay or trade for one of these.

"Give it a go," he offers.

"Alright."

"Ok, I'll keep watch. You try and…fix your leg."

"Yeah, you do that."

Fifteen minutes later, my leg is feeling calm enough for me to stand and I limp around a bit.

"Hey, Dylan!" he exclaims quietly and pushes through the leafy canopy. "Look!"

Garret holds out a silver parachute. I examine the small bottle and unscrew the lid to find three white pills inside.

"Well, it's defiantly not meant for me." Garret decides.

I nod and swallow one of the pills. The pain begins to recede almost instantly. I smile in disbelief.

"Better keep those other pills handy." He advises. "Just in case."

I tuck the container in my pocket.

"I'll stand watch," I tell Garret. "You get some rest."

"Uh...you sure?"

I nod. I want to show the Gamemakers and the sponsors that I'm not weak. Garret looks unsure for a minute then walks to the tree without protest. I sit up most of the night, armed with the bow and arrow, waiting. Nothing happens, as I assumed earlier, but I don't mind. It's very relaxing...

"Dylan."

My eyes snap open. Sunlight filters through the leaves and the air has warmed. Where am I? This isn't my room! Outside? The arena! A boy hovers over me. I launch myself up with a battle cry and tackle him. I raise the knife that will pierce his skull.

"Gwah! Dylan! Stop! It's me!"

I blink rapidly and the face registers. Oops. "Sorry." I say and climb off my ally. "You startled me. ...Oh crabs. I fell asleep?"

"It's fine." Garret assures me.

The silence that follows is slightly awkward so I clear my throat. "So, do you want to remain here or travel?"he asks.

"We might as well stay here." I say. "This is a reasonable fort, plenty of water and shelter, but we probably should do something productive today."

"Hunting?" he suggests. "We might run out of food soon."

"Yes, but I'll have to teach you to hunt. If we were to go out now we'd be lucky to snare a vole."

"So…hunting lessons then?"

"No, even better."

"What?"

"Was the other day your first time swimming, Garret?"

"Yeah…"

Thirty minutes later I'm knee-deep in the water wearing only my undergarments and he's standing on the bank, fully clothed, stubborn as a crab. I'm starting to lose patience and he's bound and determined to come up with some valid excuse to not enter the water.

"Dylan, this is a bad idea. You don't know what's in there!"

"True, but I'm willing to bet every bit of food we have that whatever lurks in here isn't worse that the things I face daily back home. Sharks, eels, crabs, territorial fish, anemones, jelly fish, urchins—yes, a frog is so scary."

He blinks. "I don't know what those things are."

"Good. You'll sleep easier at night."

He shudders.

"Kidding, now get in here."

"No!" he stamps his foot like a child.

I sigh. He brought this on himself. I slosh through the water towards shore and push him over when I get close enough. "Hey—what?" I yank off his boots then he starts kicking before I can remove the socks.

I slap his foot. "Knock it off! You get your butt into the water or I'll hang you by your ankles till sunset and not feed you until dawn."

Garret opens his mouth to protest but then thinks better of it and closes his trap. I back away while he removes his shirt, pants and socks and places them with mine.

"Good, now come on." I wade back into the water and he reluctantly follows me until the water reaches his thighs then he refuses to go on.

I want him waist deep but this'll have to do. "Alright, first off, remember that the water doesn't have to be your enemy. It's powerful, but it can help you if you just let it. Don't underestimate it or it will kill you, but don't fear it so much that you stay rooted to the land like an oak."

"Easy for you to say."

"Garret, that's a lesson we teach little children." I say patiently. "Now, I'm realistic so I don't expect you to become anywhere close to my skills. The Gamemakers simply won't let the Games go on that long."

"In other words, I won't live long enough." he said dryly.

I smile, "Exactly."

Fifteen minutes later he's still barely able to keep afloat. I'm starting to wonder if he was born with rocks for bones. "No, no kick your legs a bit harder."

He does and sends a spray of water up but at least he manages to keep his head above water. "Keep your hands moving, though. Your legs should be the base of your power but use your hands to give you the extra push."

Slowly he progresses. Within an hour he is swimming from one bank to another with the basic dog paddle. I stand near the edge, switching between watching him and scanning the landscape, checking our supplies in the tree. Garret sends a burst of water at me. I blink at him.

"Every time you look at me you seem unimpressed." He seethes.

"Of course," I say. "I live around people who are one evolutionary phase away from developing gills. Compared to them, you're doing horribly."

He frowns. "Am I making _any_ notable progress?"

"Are you still alive?"

"Yes."

"Then there's your answer." I push my hair behind my head. "Want a proper demonstration?"

His eyes widen a bit and he nods. I wait until he splashes onto the shore before I dive in like a dolphin. Kicking my legs, I cut through the water with ease, lifting my head for quick gasps of air when needed. When I stop I'm way downstream from Garret. I can't help but smile because for a few minutes, I forgot I was in the arena. I'm in my element again. Garret is gawking when I climb out of the water and I smile.

"Back to work." I instruct and he wades back in.

As I watch him, my smile falters. What's happening to me? I hated Pisces before the reaping but by the time we'd reached the Capitol we were smiling and laughing like we were kids again. And Garret—I wanted to kill him by the third morning and now I'm teaching him trade secrets, watching his back…and wishing he'd been born in District 4.

* * *

**Yeah, I do wish he'd been born in District 4 :(**

**LOOK! Me and some friends did the Feast scene from The Hunger Games for my final project.**

**youtube . com/watch?v=YAkFS98tdZc (remove spaces)**

**:D I'm the redhead. Flower says I'm totally badass 'cuz I got shot with an arrow and I didn't even bleed! ...mostly cuz we had like...no budget for this x_x **

**And we have bloopers too! **

**/watch?v=qscb4YtGfpU**

**Review/fav/tell your friends!**


	12. Friend

**I've got the George of the Jungle theme song in my head o.o**

**Anywho, here's the chapter :)  
**

* * *

Boom!

I sit up so fast that I bang my head on a low tree branch.

"Ow! Son of a bull—"

"Shh! Listen!" Garret's hand covers my mouth, cutting off what was sure to be a very colorful stream of words.

The cannon sounds loud no matter where you are in the arena but if we can hear screaming of the surviving partner then we can get a general location of the action and either flee or hunt. …Yes! In the far distance I hear a female's voice raised in agony. I can't be sure, but it sounds like it's an older tribute that's screaming.

Garrett lowers his hand as the second cannon fires. We sit in silence for a few minutes.

"Four days." I say quietly. "Four deaths gave us a four day relapse."

"Huh," Garret mutters. "Could be a coincidence or it could be people were just getting bored and needed some action. Wonder who it was?"

"Well, the screamer sounded a bit older. So it was Silk, Sawyer, or maybe Fleece."

"Which one's Fleece?"

"The one-armed girl from 11."

"Oh, her…"

"As for the male, who knows?"

He sighs and nods. "I think we should move today."

Move? I look around at the willow tree we've used as our camp for the past few days. I really like it here. But he's right. We really need to get moving. We're sitting ducks here.

"Alright," I said. "We'll follow the river. It leads somewhere."

I climb up to our supplies and the notion of moving flies out the door. We're dangerously low on food. We need to hunt.

"It's a no go," I say as I hand him a pair of knives and his sword. "We need food badly."

As I say that, a large parachute falls from the sky, bringing with it a basket. I run to see our gift, the first one since my medicine. Bread! Bread from District 4 and bread I don't recognize, but Garret clearly does. He picks up a loaf and bites into it without hesitation.

"Tastes like home." He says in between bites. I bite into my own bread and close my eyes as the familiar salty taste tickles my taste buds. What I wouldn't give for some roasted seagull or tuna to go with this. But I'm not one to complain when I'm presented with such a gift.

We trade loaves and I chew the bread from Garret's district slowly. It's a bit tasteless compared to the saltiness of my bread, but it's good in its own way. I think it has a bit of honey in the mixture. Garret looks a bit squeamish.

"What's in this?"

"It's made with the teressa grain," I assure him. "But we bake in seaweed, too, and salt. That's what you taste."

He chews another bite. "It's not so bad, I guess. But I like mine better."

"Me too."

"Hey, look. Goat cheese."

We save some of the bread and all the cheese for later, but we still need to hunt. Garret sets a snare just in case anyone tries to get our supplies while I load up two packs with a loaf of bread, half the cheese, two bottles of water, backup weapons, a few medical supplies, and I put the painkillers in my bag. Just enough stuff to get us by if we can't return or our supplies are stolen in our absence.

One of my lessons with Garret was teaching him to creep because, let's face it, when you're surrounded by roaring machines you could be wearing too-big boots and you wouldn't make a sound. If I was a cat creeping along through the trees then he was a dog, too big to be perfectly silent, but small enough to slink on through.

I manage to bring down some birds I can't name and several water rodents. I think they're voles. Whatever they are, they'll make a good meal. Garret fairs well by the bank of a nice pond, managing to skewer four fish before they retreated out of his reach. It's enough.

We rest for a while back at the willow while skinning and gutting the animals. Its unpleasant work so there's nothing we can really talk about that won't leave us gaps to think about the task at hand. As odd as it may seem, innards make me a little squeamish.

It's nearly sunset and we must've traveled over ten miles from the willow tree. We need to find a place to camp for the night. The only problem is the further we go the soggier it gets. If we try to sleep on the ground we'll get soaked or worse.

"In the tree?" he stares up at the sturdy oak I've selected.

"Yes Garret, in the tree."

"But…what if I fall?"

"We'll tie ropes around our waists to keep us onto the branches so if we roll off we don't fall. Sound good?"

"I guess…"

"You really like good solid ground, huh?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess it's good that you aren't from 4. A lot of our ground is sand and wood and then there's the whole ocean thing…"

We get hunkered down in the treetops. I volunteer to be lower to the ground but he's scared of heights so he rests in a fork a mere thirty feet off the ground and I set up my sleeping bag about another ten feet up. The supplies are tied between us. The thick branches provide us with a good cover and plenty of noise should anyone attempt to scale the tree.

When the anthem starts to play we watch the sky through the leaves. The seal gets replaced by Silk's lovely face, shining brightly for one last time, then she's gone and the picture shining bright is of the boy from District 11. I think that's…Lister. I've actually forgotten some of the names of the others. They're just...not important anymore. Forgetting their names is easier than the other option. The seal reappears and the anthem finishes, then it's dark and silent again. A few seconds...the animals start to chatter and Garret calls from below. "That was Silk, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I say.

"So, isn't that all the tributes from 1 and 2?"

"Yes."

"You and Pisces are the only ones left."

"Yes."

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Every death is one step closer to mine," he says after a moment of silence. "I know that with every one of us that snuffs it that my odds of living another day decrease."

"You have me." I remind him then I lean over the branch to smile down at him. "I'm not that easy to kill."

"Yeah, but, what if we run into Pisces and his partner?"

I hesitate for a moment as memories assault my mind like a frenzy of sharks. I force them away and lift my chin.

"Then we'll kill them both." I say coldly.

"They probably killed Silk and Lister. I mean—he's the only one capable of taking down someone like her, right?"

"I don't know, Garret. You hid your skill with a sword pretty well until the bloodbath. Maybe someone else has something they didn't display earlier."

"That makes me feel all warm inside." he said sarcastically.

"Well, since you feel all warm, you'll have no problem with keeping the first watch." I smile sweetly then snuggle down in my sleeping bag before he can argue.

"Dylan."

My eyes fly open.

"Psst, hey, Dylan, wake up." Garret hisses from below.

I lean over quickly and try to locate him down below. His green eyes gleam in the dim light and he smiles. "Hey, it's your turn to stand watch."

"Ugh..." I groan and rub my eyes. I nod and sit up, slip my night vision goggles on, and listen to him burrowing in his little nest. After a few minutes he stops making noises and I'm left alone in silence, save for the chirping of the creatures dwelling here.

An owl hoots nearby and I jump. There it is, sitting on a branch just a few feet above me. It's beautiful. I make small hooting noises back. It turns its yellow eyes on me and blinks slowly. I hoot again. We stare at each other for a few minutes then the owl unfolds its long wings and soars away. I sigh.

Nothing else interesting happens until dawn. I wake Garret; we eat, load our stuff, and trudge on.

As the hours go by the arena gets wetter and marshier. The clearer water thickens into murky, muddy swamp water. I don't want to swim in that. We make camp in a tree a little early into the day and just talk. There's nothing else to do. We really don't need to hunt today and after all the walking we're both grateful for a chance to relax. And we get to know each other more. It's stupid because it'll be harder to kill him should it come to that but at this point, I'm really not thinking about killing him.

I talk about each of my friends, I talk about my family, I describe my district—I describe the beach and ocean. I talk about the victors I know. Then he talks more about his life, his family, his friends. He describes the factory where he works, the smells, the sounds. He laughs about the fact he's never been around so much greenery in his life. Or so much water.

The night brings silence: no deaths for the day.

The next day we keep heading through the swamp. Around noon the trees start to thin and I see a yellowy light ahead. We break into a run and find ourselves looking over a vast expanse of grass.

"A prairie." I say, identifying the landscape I've only seen in books and during previous Hunger Games.

Garret gasps. "Whoa! It looks like it goes on forever!"

"It has to end somewhere." I argue.

"...I don't want to find out where." his voice is suddenly hard. "I don't like it out there. It's too...open. Let's go back."

"This must be why our shirts are reversible." I muse. "So we'll blend."

"Dylan, _no_." he tugs on my arm. "Come on, I don't like this. You have no idea what could be out there."

I look out over the empty expanse for a second then drop my packs and climb up the nearest tree. I stare into the distance. A range of mountains sticks up from the horizon. That's probably two days travel. And beyond that? Who knows? In the prairie itself I can see lots of water. It's just another type of wetland, like the rest of the arena.

I climb back down and load back up. We don't even have to speak. He knows I've made up my mind. We travel within the swamp, keeping about half a mile from the prairie. We hunt, we gather, we talk, we joke. After a day we've veered back into the less swampy part of the forest. I want to go find our willow tree again, but I only know the general direction. It could take ages to find it. We don't have that long.

Three days after Silk and Lister's deaths we're on the other side of the big river. I'm guessing the Cornucopia isn't too far away. Someone might've made camp there so I really want to avoid it. Garret suggests we explore the other side of the arena. Why not?

But first, we need to hunt again.

We each take just enough to sustain us both just in case and leave the rest tied up in a tree. He's getting good at hunting. I've got him to the point where he can hit the target three out of five times with knife from about twenty meters away.

"Ok, I'll go first." I say as I pull the hood up over my head to hide my hair. "Keep a few meters behind me and keep an eye out."

He nods. "Yes, ma'am."

We keep low as we slip through the forest. There doesn't seem to be anything out though. It could be the Gamemaker's doing. We stop for lunch, the last bits of jerky, an apple each, and some crackers.

"How long have we been in here?" he asks.

"Probably about fourteen days," I say. "It's been three days since the last death."

He looks worried. "Maybe we should get back to our supplies. I've got a feeling people are getting bored."

We finish our food on the move.

"Hey, look!" he suddenly hisses and points ahead.

I see it. A few voles scurrying around by a pond. I nod and creep ahead, loading my bow. I pause a few feet away, take aim, and let the arrow fly. The arrow hits its mark and a fat vole falls dead. The others shoot away before I can reload but considering how this day has been going, one vole is good enough.

Garret picks up the dead animal and hands me the arrow.

We collect our stuff from the tree then head in a different direction. The air is very heavy. I wonder if this has something to do with whatever the Gamemakers may be planning. Oh Poseidon I hope there isn't a _fire_ or drought! We'll need to collect some water just in case…

"Hey…Dylan?"

"Yeah?" I slow down so we're walking side by side.

I watch Garret's face as he decides what to say. He looks so serious and at the same time, so sad.

"Dylan…"

I wait.

"If…if you win, will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Give my sister a hug for me during the Victory Tour. I…I said something to her when she was trying to say goodbye and when she tried I wouldn't let her hug me. So…give her a hug for me, please?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He smiles. "If you don't, I'll come back from the afterlife and haunt you."

"Promise?"

He laughs, "Promise."

An hour later we've removed our jackets and I'm ready to just take my shirt off. It's so _hot! _Even the natural chill from the nearby river isn't present. The air is thick and hard to breathe.

"Okay, that does it." Garret drops the supplies on the riverbank, yanks off everything except his undershorts, and bounds into the water. A lifetime of experiencing hot days on boats and beaches gives me enough tolerance to tie our supplies up before I'm down to my undergarments and in the water.

I sigh and float on my back, slowly kicking with my legs. Garret rears up and pushes me under. I stay just under the surface, treading water with ease, then launch myself up and ram into him. He sinks under then bobs up like a cork.

"You're doing well, my pupil." I say. "Soon you will be swimming like a fish."

"I don't know about that."

"Very well. Soon you will be swimming like _moi_."

Is it wrong, I wonder, to be having so much fun while others are scraping to get by inside of the arena and out? Is it wrong that I've abandoned all my barriers and have befriended him? Is it wrong that I just want to hug him?

It's nearly sunset when the air has finally cooled enough for us to climb out. Once we re-dress I finally start to skin the vole we caught while Garret lights us a fire. He cooks the meat on the rocks and I work on getting us plenty of water from the river and add the purifier.

"God, what I wouldn't give for just one loaf of bread." Garret sighs. "I loved those yeast breads we had one night in the Capitol." It's almost funny how quickly the parachute lands beside him and with it is a single loaf of yeast bread. He laughs and calls his thanks to the sky. Meat, water, and bread. What a feast!

Once the anthem begins, I lean over and cup my hand over my mouth and whisper into his ear, "Here's something to keep the audience buzzing. We did this when we were helping Sawyer, the girl from Seven, pretend she wasn't allied with us at lunch. Smile like I've said something sweet. …Okay, now, laugh a bit."

He chuckles and turns his head to give me an amused look. "Is that so?"

I lean back to his ear. "Nice touch. Okay, now frown just a bit. Now smile warmly and nod."

He does. I lean away and smile. He smiles and pats me on the head turning my smile into a scowl. He laughs and leans back, supporting himself on his hands. I look up at the sky where a camera probably is getting an aerial view and smile. _Have fun working that one out._ I think wickedly.

The area is so tightly packed with trees that I decide it's all right if we sleep on the ground. Garret is much happier with this arrangement; he volunteers to take first watch. I set up out sleeping bags in between two thick roots of one particularly sturdy tree. He puts on the night vision goggles and sits down on top of his sleeping bag while I curl up inside mine.

As I'm trying to drift off, he starts humming softly. I recognize the tune from back home but how does he know it? Do they sing it in District 8, too? I open my eyes to find him staring at me.

"What?"

"That song, we sing it back in my district, too."

"I know," he says. I wish those glasses didn't obscure his eyes. I can usually tell how he's feeling by looking at them.

I close my eyes and shift a bit deeper into the bag. A minute later, he starts humming the same song again, like a lullaby. I'm asleep within minutes. I wake up the next morning to find him slumped against the root. He must've dozed off while on watch. I sit back and let him sleep.

"Let's go tribute hunting." I say once he's awake. "We need to get some action going and soon."

"I could always kiss you." He says lightly, removing the glasses. Ah, that's better. He's teasing me. "I'm sure the beating I'll get for it would be considered action."

"Yes it would." I agree. "But if your face comes within three inches of mine for any reason besides mouth to mouth resuscitation, I will cut your lips off. Got it?"

He pales and covers his mouth with his hand. His voice comes out muffled. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

We decide to leave most of our supplies tethered in the treetop. Hopefully something will happen today that will keep the Gamemakers happy enough to avoid anything drastic happening. I really don't want a wildfire or mutt pack being set loose.

"Keep your eyes peeled." I murmur to Garret during the mid morning. "I get the feeling that someone's nearby."

His head swivels around automatically and he grips the hilt of his sword.

We eat the leftover vole meat for lunch and then I proceed to bring down a strange bird. I'm not sure what it is but there's meat on it so it's food. Garret catches a squirrel—one of the only ones we'd seen in the arena—and holds it in front of my face.

"And how many of these have you caught, Dylan?" he asks, referring to an earlier conversation about all the animals and fish I'd caught.

"Three in my entire life." I admit, and all three were in this arena.

Several hours pass. The temperature increases as does the humidity and it becomes harder to walk. We're chugging the water like there's no tomorrow. We'll need to refill soon. If I wasn't so damn _thirsty_ every five minutes I might be more concerned about conserving our supply, especially as the water level in our reserve water container drops.

Garret holds up one of the containers and shakes it over his mouth. Not even a drop falls out. "Damn," he croaks. "I'm out."

I look down at the meager drops left in my bottle. "Same." I sigh. "Alright, stay here with the stuff and I'll go get us some water." I point to the small brook a few yards off. He gratefully hands me his bottle and the reserve container. I let my bag of food drop to the ground and slip the quiver of arrows back on.

"Be right back," I say and hurry over to the stream. I crouch by the shore and look for anything along the banks that could snare me, then I scan the surface for any signs of unnatural disturbance. After a minute, I creep down to the water line and start to fill up the canisters. The cool water from the brook feels good on my hands and I splash some onto my face with some water then I add iodine drops to the bottle of water and set it aside to fill up Garret's.

I love the sound of the water rushing over the pebbles and lapping at the shore. I could fall asleep here if I wanted to.

One drop of iodine, two drops, three—

A cannon fires.

And I know whose it is. Then I cannot think about him anymore because my body freezes and, starting from the exact location of the chip, unimaginable pain shoots through my body like lightning. I have no will to stop the scream from escaping. I fall to the side, thrashing around, clawing at the ground, and shrieking like a banshee.

I scream and scream. I scream because I know Garret is dead. I scream because I know his killers are near. I scream because I know I am helpless and that they will undoubtedly follow my cries. I scream because I know my life is about to end.

Something covers my mouth and just like that the pain stops as if it never started. My head is swimming, but I choke out Garret's name desperately.

_He can't be dead, he just _can't _be!_

I open my eyes and stare up into a pair of familiar cool blue eyes. I gasp down air and I feel tears leaking down my cheeks. I reach my hand up and put it over his hand, intending to move it but lacking the strength. He stares down at it then tells me quietly, "I remember that day on the coast."

"What are you doing?" A female voice hisses from nearby. "Just kill her now!"

Pisces removes his hand from my mouth. "Do you remember it?"

"I…" Darkness clouds my vision, I can hardly think about anything….

_Garret, no…_no_…_

"Kill her!" the girl screeches.

"Garret…" I breathe.

"Well if you won't, I will!"

Then it all goes dark.

* * *

**Don't kill me.**

**Review/fav/tell peeps...  
**


	13. Alone

**Sorry for the wait :) Here you go! **

* * *

Darkness.

Where am I?

Am I dead?

No…I can't be. I struggle through the endless night, willing myself out of it.

It takes a while to register anything. Then slowly noise filters through the haze as my body comes back to me. Noise…different noises…close…far… Insects…animals, I think. Wind…fire crackling…voices. Voices nearby—one deep, one light—a boy and a girl, saying words I don't understand. But they're speaking. They're alive. And…if they're alive…then I must be, too.

"—insane, Pisces! What do you think she'll do when she wakes up?"

"She'll probably run. Or fight."

"Exactly! We need to kill her. Now! You should've killed her first thing but no, you had to suddenly develop merciful feelings."

Kill…kill her…?

Oh, right. They want to kill me.

"Look, you wouldn't understand. But I had to let her live. …Look, once she's gone she'll be on her own. Her partner's dead and she's got no supplies on her. The Gamemakers will probably kill her once they need to liven things up."

Dead? Garret…

"I suppose you'll be giving her the arrows back."

"No."

I guess the love only goes so far.

I open my eyes just enough so I can just about see my surroundings. I'm lying on my side, facing a fire. Judging from the light filtering through the trees, it's probably mid-afternoon. Pisces is sitting on the side closest to me and his partner sits on the other side of the low flames. I have to fight back laughter when I recognize her face. And I thought I'd had it bad when I got Garret. He got _Fleece_, the one-armed girl from District 11.

I can see my bow and quiver lying discarded near her. There's no way I can get to them and they have probably searched my pockets and removed my knives. I shift my foot just enough to know the knife is still tucked into my boot. Good. My jacket is still with our stuff at the tree. Somehow, I'll have to get back there.

And then…what?

Garret's gone…dead. Without almost any doubt, one of them killed him.

I'm alone.

A tear escapes from my eye. I can't move to wipe it away and if one of them looks at me they'll notice the wet streak. Better get moving.

I brace myself and then scramble up, launching myself towards the trees. Bad idea. My head spins and my legs feel like jelly. I collapse on the ground just as Fleece lets out an angry shout. I gasp and try to scramble away, but a foot on my back pins me to the ground.

"Let me go!" I screech with as much venom as I can muster while I try as hard as I can to wriggle free.

"Stop it, Dilly."

I snarl up at Pisces. "Don't call me that!"

"_Stop_."

I stop struggling and let my aching body go limp. He's right, what's the point? There's two of them and one of me. Besides, they're armed and I'm not.

"Thank you." He doesn't remove his foot.

"Just _kill her_!" Fleece's voice had changed from hard and demanding to pleading and a bit…scared.

What does _she_ have to be afraid of? It's not her ally pinned to the ground by their district partner. Unless she's afraid we'll turn on her and that I'll spare him as he spared me. The idea has merit. I wonder if Pisces is considering that, too. It wouldn't be a bad idea, but I don't want to risk it. I'm not getting attached to anyone else for the rest of these Games. I know that now I'm alone I'm going to pay dearly for getting so close to Garret.

_Garret_. His face pops into my head and I'm fighting tears again. Why had I left him behind? Why didn't I make him come with me? My stupid mistake had cost him his life, and quite probably mine, too. If I run into another tribute pair now I'll be toast. Why didn't Pisces just kill me earlier?

"Why didn't you kill me?" I ask him, staring directly into his eyes.

"I'm wondering the same thing," Fleece mutters nearby.

Pisces swallows then he lifts up his shirt and shows me a scarred part of his stomach. I stare at it for a long minute, trying to figure out what he wants me to see on the bare skin, and then it comes back to me. A memory emerges from years ago, before the Trials. We'd been out swimming in the ocean by some cliffs near the edge of the district with a few of our friends. I went back to shore with the others but Pisces and this other boy, Frilo, I think was his name, didn't come back. We were drying off and through the waves we heard them start screaming. They'd gotten caught in the most dangerous current around our district. Grown men and women cannot break free, never mind young children. The others ran, screaming for help and this other kid and I scrambled across the small rocky peninsula that jutted out in the direction of the current and then without thinking I dove in after them. I managed to get a hold on Pisces—he'd gotten knocked unconscious and bloodied up on the jagged stone—and clung to a rock for dear life. I remember wondering how badly he was hurt because his blood was staining my clothes. The other kid jumped up and down on shore to catch the attention of the rescue party and they pulled us out. Frilo's body was never found, but I had saved Pisces.

I'd forgotten all about that until just now. But, apparently, he didn't. I guess he really couldn't since he saw the scars from the rocks on a daily basis. I nod once but don't speak aloud. This is our secret.

Pisces lets his shirt drop then he opens his hand and a wadded up piece of cloth falls to the ground beside me. I recognize it from when I was washing our clothes one day. Garret's token. Pisces must've taken it as some sort of trophy.

"Which one of you killed him?" I ask in a steely voice.

Pisces' eyes flick to Fleece so quickly that I nearly miss it and at the same time, Fleece says calmly, "Pisces did."

His eyes flick to her again and narrow meaningfully at me. I get what he's saying. It wasn't Pisces; it was Fleece.

I feel the pressure on my back decrease and I seize my chance. I reach out and grab the cloth and launch myself upward, throwing Pisces off me, sprinting away as fast as I can. I don't know if they give chase and I don't turn to look. I don't stop running for several minutes and I climb a tree before I turn to see if I was pursued. There's no sign of them.

I'm alone. I can't lose it. Not here, not when my sponsors are watching to see if I'm still a worthy bet. My breathing is still heavy as I tuck Garret's token into my pocket and climb down, heading for the oak where we'd stored our supplies. It's not too hard to follow the path I'd mentally marked earlier and by the time the sun dips below the horizon I'm almost there. Somehow, I haven't dropped my stony expression while I'm crying on the inside.

When the anthem begins I immediately make a beeline for the nearest place where the trees don't block the sky. I stare up at the seal in the sky, waiting…waiting…

Garret's face shines in the sky and I stare at every inch of it, memorizing everything. I'll never forget this even if I live another hundred years.

Then the seal replaces him. The anthem finishes and it vanishes.

I imagine most of the other tributes are quite perplexed. They would've been surprised by the absence of a cannon after the first one sounded, but by now they must be at a point far beyond confusion. They'll be wondering if the mandatory alliances have ended without notice or whether or not I somehow pulled through the agony without being killed. No one will risk testing their theories though, not with their own lives at stake.

_Keep going,_ I tell myself. Just put one foot after another. _Don't cry. _

When I finally reach the tree where we stored our supplies, I'm so worn out that I barely have the strength to pull myself up, never mind strap myself in once I'm up there. But somehow I manage and I pull out the other sleeping bag. I lean against the tree trunk and drape the bag over my upper half, hiding me from the cameras. Then I let the tears trickle down my cheeks in the darkness where no one can see.

It's funny how trusting someone with your life for over a week can turn them into your best friend. Every one of the tears that falls down my cheek represents everything I'll miss. His voice, his smile, his laughter, his scowl, the way his eyes narrowed when he was frustrated, the skills he displayed, the way he talked about his life, his presence. I miss it all. I pull his token out of my pocket and hold it in my hands.

I try not to sob. Their microphones can pick up almost anything and I don't want to appear weak in any way at all. I can only hope another tribute pair is having some sort of adventure or conversation that's more important than what I may or may not be doing out of the camera's view.

_I'll never forget you_, I silently promise.

I don't think he'll mind that I use his token to wipe the tears away. I put my night vision glasses on to obscure my eyes then fold his sleeping bag to use as a pillow then burrow down to sleep. I drift in and out all night, wanting to sleep but never quite reaching the point of complete unconsciousness. It's a long night.

While I'm alert enough to think more clearly, my thoughts are full of dark hate. _I _want to end Fleece. I want to kill her slowly. I want to kill the Gamemakers. I want to kill President Snow. I want to kill all of Fleece's sponsors. I want to kill everyone who cheers for the Hunger Games. I want to bring back the son of a bull shark who first thought of the Hunger Games from the afterlife and kill them again as slowly and painfully as possible. I want to cut them into tiny pieces, one for each fallen tribute.

I hate this place. I hate everything to do with this place.

When dawn comes I sit up and remove my glasses. I wait just long enough for the cameras to zoom in on me then I growl, "She's going to pay."

Perhaps that vow is what makes the Gamemakers decide to let me keep on living even though I'm a slap in the face. Proof that friendship still matters, even here. Even though we face certain death. I'm sure, though, that if a time comes when I'm no longer entertaining, they'll find some way to end me that will just remind everyone I was just another Game piece that went astray.

I pack up as much stuff as I can carry. I leave behind a few things I absolutely don't have to have, hiding them high in the tree in case I have to come back.

And then I walk. I run sometimes. I sing softly once. Whistle another time. I swim when I need a break or when I want to cry so no one will see. I hunt, gather, sleep, I walk. Dawn, midday, dusk, night. Dawn, midday, dusk, night. Dawn, midday, dusk, night. The silence is crushing. I never realized how much I liked talking to him until he was gone. The Hunger Games surrounds me; pounding into me now that the barrier Garret's presence had created is thrown down.

'_Just keep going,' _he whispers. '_Don't stop now.' _

I want this stupid allies thing to end so I can just kill Fleece without having to worry about Pisces, too.

I'm hungry. I'm tired. I climb into a tree to sleep.

The sound of trumpets wakes me so suddenly that I nearly fall out of the tree. I grip the tree branch like a lifeline and wait.

"Congratulations! You've survived this long, most of you thanks to your partner." Claudius Templesmith booms.

My mouth falls open as I hear him say the alliances are over. Every man for himself. Every woman for herself. He wishes us luck, gives the whole mandatory favorable odds line, then silence.

It's quiet for a few seconds, then the cannon goes off. Another one does not follow. I feel bad for whoever that was. Their ally turned on them instantly. I wonder if Garret would've… I wonder if I would've… No. I'm pretty sure I would've given him a fair chance to run. I know he would've done the same for me.

It's not long until sundown. I want to know who died.

Now that it's every tribute for themselves hunting will be a bit easier. I grin.

"Here comes the fun."

Once the sun goes down I know I'm not the only one staring at the sky in anticipation. After a minute or two the anthem begins and the seal appears. I wait. Then I scream in outrage.

It's Fleece.

"Damn you, Pisces! Damn you!"

_At least she's dead_, I tell myself later as I'm lying in my sleeping bag high in a tree.

With the alliances over I'm pretty sure I don't have to worry about the Gamemakers killing me. I'm one of the last ones with any real skill. They'll want me to put on a show.

"Hey, think you can send a tribute my way?" I look up at the sky. "I'm in the mood to kill something."

'_Then go kill an animal.'_ Garret says. '_You don't need to kill a kid.'_

I sigh and close my eyes. I must be losing my mind. I sleep straight through the night and well into the next day. When I finally awake it's probably sometime after noon. A quick check of my supplies tells me I'm set for the day so I decide to just sit there in my tree and occupy myself by carving little wooden sculptures. It's very relaxing and time consuming, but not something that requires too much focus. I can whittle and also be constantly aware of the world around me. My knife chips away at the thick branches I selected for my artwork.

By sundown, I've carved two things. A fish, I even went so far as to add little grooves where the fins are. A cog, like in the machines Garrett worked with during his life.

_How's that look, Garret?_ I think with a quiet giggle.

'_Hmm. Not bad. The proportions are a bit off, though…'_

Oh yes. I've definitely lost my mind. But, at least, insanity brought a friend. I carve his name into the back of the cog, his district number, and his place in the Games, which ironically enough was 8th. In the back of the fish I put my name and my district.

The evening passes uneventfully, there are no deaths, and I stay awake long into the night. At one point, I remind the Gamemakers that I'd like a tribute to be sent my way. I wonder if someone is laughing about that.

Garret isn't. He reprimands me. '_Don't say that! There's been enough killing.'_

Come morning I regret staying "in bed" all day. My muscles are stiff and a bit sore. I sit on the ground and stretch. It feels good. I climb back into the tree and fish out the two carvings plus Garret's token. For a moment I examine the piece of cloth. It's simple and blue and the names of his family have been sewn into it with black thread. I place both carvings in it, secure it with a string, then stow them in my pocket.

Someone snuffles. I freeze. Another snuffle.

I shift carefully and peer down. Well how about that, then! I've been given what I asked for. A tribute! Looks like the boy from 10. Skyler, the blind boy's brother. I smirk and without taking my eyes off him, I reach over and grab my quiver and slip it over my shoulder. I load the bow and then wait patiently.

Skyler moves slowly towards my tree. He looks like he's really upset about something; he's crying softly and cradling his left arm gingerly. Poor kid. Hmm. Best put him out of his misery! I pull back the bowstring to deliver a swift death, but then I stop. I've been asking for something to kill and they probably saw to it that this boy came my way. They're expecting blood.

I frown. To give them the blood they want I will have to really torture the boy and I don't exactly want to do that. I actually respect him for what he did for his brother. And…what would Garret say if he was here?

'_I'm right here and you're stupid,' _Garret growls. '_Do _not_ even think about it, Dylan. Just kill him quickly and be done with it!'_

_But that isn't Garret._ A different, saner voice in my head reminds me viciously. _He's dead and you're not, so you need to show the Gamemakers why you shouldn't join him in the afterlife._

Touché. I allow my lips to turn up in a cruel smirk so the Gamemakers know I've understood what they want and I pull out a stick I'd been planning to carve. The moment he crosses under my tree, I drop the stick

The relative silence of our insular world is penetrated when the length of wood hits the ground with a thump. I bring my bow to the ready when Skyler jumps in shock. He looks around wildly then stops and slowly looks up. His eyes widen in horror when he spots me poised to kill. I smile, shift my bow just a bit, and let it fly. It hits him in the shoulder and he cries out, sagging against the tree. He puts his hand around the arrow and yanks it out. Blood instantly gushes from the wound.

I grab two knives then begin my rapid descent from the tree. Skyler is attempting to flee, one hand gripping his shoulder uselessly. I shoot another one into his leg and he goes down. He's not going anywhere now so I take my time to saunter over to him.

"Well, well, well." I say. "Seems the Gamemakers realized how bored I was and decided to send me a tribute to play with."

He swallows.

"It nothing personal, really," I say. "But this isn't going to be quick and painless like you're hoping for. See, I owe the Gamemakers since I survived their whole alliance thing when I shouldn't have. I need to repay them somehow. It's only fair."

Skyler tries to scoot away from me, but he's seriously slowed down by his wounds.

"Maybe you should keep quiet." I advise, kneeling down beside him. I yank the arrow out of his leg and he yelps. "So your brother doesn't know how bad it is."

He spits at me and tries to wriggle away. I jump up and kick him hard in the stomach. I load the bow and shoot into his arm. The arrow goes clear through and holds him to the ground. He screams and the sound echoes through the quiet arena. I know someone probably heard. They're probably running away now. That gives me plenty of time. I shoot an arrow into his other arm and both of his legs, then into his ankles. All the while he continues to scream and cry, but as the blood leaves his body, he never begs.

I raise my eyebrows just a bit. I need to make this believable…I'll have make him beg for death. I shoot another arrow into his hand then drop the bow onto the grass and pull out one of my knives.

"Do you know what it's like to be blind?" I asked him, holding the knife in front of his eyes. He doesn't respond.

"Answer me!" I hiss.

"No," he chokes out.

"No, what?"

"No."

"No you don't know or no, you're not answering?" I gently run the tip of the blade across his forehead. A thin line is left behind but only a bit of blood appears. I make a vertical line along the horizontal one for every second he didn't answer.

"No I don't know." He finally answers. Blood is trickling down his face now.

"Hmm." I slash a line just above his eye sockets. Blood streams out like a waterfall, falling into his eyes. I walk back to the tree and climb up to my supplies to get the weapon I decide to kill him with. When I get back to Skyler there is a pool of blood and tears under his face.

"Does it hurt?" I croon viciously. "…Since you're silent I'm guessing not." I grip the end of the arrow in his leg, yank it out, then drive it back in near his spine. He sobs once, a really pitiful sound, but I don't let it faze me.

"Does it hurt?" I repeat, my voice cold even to my own ears.

"Yes," he sobs.

"Do you want me to just kill you now and end it?"

He continues to cry and twitch feebly

"Or should I just drag this on until you die of blood loss?" I pull out another arrow and as it rips back through his flesh, more blood flows.

"No!"

"Do you want to die?" I shove the arrow on the other side of his spine, but not close enough to paralyze him.

"Yes, please just kill me…" he whimpers.

I pick the trident off the ground and twirl it around in my hands carefully, examining every inch of the fork while he continues to sob.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you say something?" I ask in mock curiosity and kick his bleeding leg.

"Kill me!" he wails.

'_Stop it!' _Garret shouts. _'That's enough, Dylan!'_

"Hmm…alright." I twirl the trident one more time then shove it into his back, piercing everything in its way, until it hits the ground. He chokes out a scream and coughs up blood onto the ground. I wait there, my hands gripping the hilt of the trident as he continues to bleed and choke, then I yank it out and the blood flows. He twitches and shudders, still spewing blood.

Moments later he goes still.

Then the cannon fires.

I smirk and wipe my hands on a clean part of his pants. Personally, I think I gave them more of a show then Jules did. That should _definitely_ get me some fans and sponsors. Plus it'll keep the Gamemakers happy. He has a few supplies tied to his belt. I keep them for my stores then gather my arrows and retreat to my tree. They'll want me to leave so they can collect his poor mangled body so I make quick work of repacking everything and scrubbing the blood-stains off my hands. I drop my supplies to the ground then climb down, load up and look once more at Skyler's body.

'_How could you do that to him?' _Garret asks. '_Goodness, Dylan that was unnecessary! What did he ever do to you? That was cruel and vicious! You're no better than Jules.'_

That was a low blow. _I am better than Jules! He killed for fun. I'm killing to live. …I'm sorry, Garret, but remember? I made you a promise. I promised you I'd hug your sister. I can't do that if I'm dead. _

"Go home, kid." I said as if Skyler was only just lying there of his own choice. "Get cleaned up. You've had a rough day."

I walk a few hundred yards away and wait. Gentle claws from a hovercraft descend and carefully scoop Skyler up.

Once it's gone the birds start to sing again and, for the first time in the arena, I realize what's singing. I rarely see them, they don't like the salty air of District 4, but sometimes near the fence around the district, you can see them lingering in the trees, hear their sweet music.

"Mockingjays," I whisper in wonder. If only I'd known earlier, I would've tried to coax one out. I'm not the best singer, but I would've risked humiliating myself on live TV for Garret, who'd only seen them on screen.

When I fall asleep, my dreams aren't horrendous like I expect them to be. I see Garret; he's sitting in the middle of a small forest clearing, lit by warm sunlight. Ellery's sitting beside him, her eyes bright and warm without the terror I always saw in them. Skyler is there, too, with his district partner who died on day 1. Silk is sitting next to Jules, who looks so calm and kind that it's hard to associate him with the arrogant boy I killed. Arno's arm is draped lightly over Leona's shoulders and she waves at me. Rinn Asher and her partner Liam, Hara and her scrawny partner from 12, Sterra smiling brightly, and all the others who died in these Games. They're all there. All happy, all unharmed, all welcoming. Not a trace of blood anywhere.

When I wake up I feel a bit better. That may have been a dream, but it felt so real. Wherever the tributes are now, I know they're safe and happy—where the Capitol and the Games can never harm them again.

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**Review/fav. All the good stuff :)**


	14. Running

**Well, here you go :) I'm getting uber excited for the Hunger Games movie. Just saw Lawrence in X-men, still trying to convince my mom to rent Winter's Bone...**

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A cannon fires.

I look up and blink once. Animals chatter loudly in alarm for a few moments then the noise gradually dies away.

"Five of us left." I say aloud. Four people between me and home and, boy, am I ready to go there.

It's the first death since my display with Skyler two days ago. I wonder who it was. I wonder who killed them.

Speaking of killing…

I stare down mournfully at the dead river otter strapped to my belt. Looks like that'll be my only catch for now. The damn cannon will have scared everything worthwhile into their dens. I'm running dangerously low on food but I'm trying to save my sponsor resources. A pack of crackers alone will cost more money than I've certainly ever seen. Who knows what else I might need before my time in here is up?

I lick my dry lips then take a swig of water from the bottle. There's only enough left for one drink. It's time to find a decent water source to restock and possibly fish. What I wouldn't give to have Garret back with me right now. I've noticed alligators in this part of the arena recently. He could watch my back while I was by the water. And of course we all saw how well _that_ worked out last time. But this time there would've been two of us and he would've been right beside me instead of fifty yards off.

I shake my head quickly and touch my pocket where his token and the wooden carvings sit for a moment. I keep walking.

Finding water is not hard—I'm in a bog, for goodness sakes. I'm lucky enough that I found the river again. I pause a few yards off and survey the bank for anything that looks unnatural or _too_ natural. Yesterday I found a snare that was probably set weeks ago by a tribute. Whoever it was is most likely dead now; only an idiot would cover a trap with a bunch of leaves that close to a river and idiots don't live long here. I wonder who it was.

I pause my scouting and do a mental sweep. All the tributes from 1, 2, and 3 are dead, plus the boy from 5, both from 6, the boy from 7, both from 8, the girl from 9, and all from 10, 11, and 12. So that's me and Pisces, the girl from 5, Sawyer, and the boy from 9, the one I taunted on the rooftop. The girl from 5 is Annalee, I think, but the boy from 9's name eludes me. I ground my teeth together. Oh well. It doesn't matter.

After another minute I deem the bank safe enough on the surface, but I still chuck rocks in my path to spring anything. I take off my shoes and socks and set them just far enough from the water to be safe and the otter too then I wade shin-deep into the water, fill up my water bottles and return them to the bank, then wade back in and load the bow. I go statue-still and wait. My eyes search the water for fish and my ears are trained on my surroundings.

A fish swims towards my legs, pauses, and swims closer. I fire. I pluck the arrow out of the water and toss the dead fish onto shore. If only I'd planned to go fishing, I would've brought the trident. I catch two more fish before I begin the long trek back to the tree where I stored my supplies. The sun is setting and I can feel the temperature already dropping. The days are hot and muggy and the nights are damp and cold—extremes of which I'm used to back home.

I do a quick onceover of the area around my tree before I scale it. I've already got my sleeping bag ready but as much as I'd like to settle down, I need to skin and gut my kills. I grab my best knives for skinning, the pan for cooking, and one of my last matches. It takes me a few minutes to gather enough kindling then I quickly start my fire and get right to work. I doubt anyone will be stupid enough to come towards whatever it is that tips them off about the fire. They'll think it's a trap or that the person lighting it is confident enough that they think no one else is a threat.

It's more the latter, but it could very well be both. Still. I've got my quiver and bow on my back, knives on my belt, the trident by my side, and my night vision goggles on my forehead. No one will be killing me tonight.

I carefully skin them and set the skins aside so I can use them and deposit the guts into a small hole then cover them with a rock. Then I get to work cooking the meat.

While I'm working, the anthem begins to play. I only look up when I see the light change as the seal is replaced with the face of Annalee from 5. I tsk softly and again wonder who got her. The anthem ends and I keep working on the fish.

"Hey, Brok?" I say without looking up. "When I get back, you're still gonna let me go fishing, right? I miss the crew."

I hope they show that footage in District 4.

I eat some of the meat then wrap the rest in a bag. I extinguish the fire and the cold assaults me like a rushing wave. I shiver and gather my stuff up and hurry up the tree. Why bother hiding my fire? I'm moving tomorrow. I crawl into my sleeping bag, using Garret's as my pillow, and I pull an extra pair of socks over my hands then I burrow down to sleep.

A cannon shot jolts me awake. I can tell right away that I've overslept. I'm sweltering. I quickly get out of my sleeping bag, pull of my makeshift gloves, and remove the jacket. I chug down a lot of water then sigh and dump the rest over my head.

I must've slept clear into the afternoon. …The cannon… I wonder who died.

Two deaths in less than twenty-four hours. The audience must be pleased. That means there's…three of us left. Me and either, Pisces, Sawyer or the boy from 9—oh, right, his name is Barlee. Wow, where'd that come from?

Sawyer. I haven't seen her since the Career alliance split. She must be packing some serious skills if she's lived this long. I wonder if I'll have to kill her.

Pisces. I know if I face him now he won't show mercy, his life debt to me is repaid, but I'll never be able to face his friends and family again if I kill him. Hell, I'll never be able forgive myself.

Barlee. …How the hell is he still alive? I think Sawyer must've been his ally. He was too…weak to survive with someone like Annalee. I think he's the one that just died.

'_You thought I was weak. Was I?'_ Garret asks. '_Maybe you misjudged Barlee, too._'

I tell him to shut up.

So that means I'll either be fighting Sawyer or Pisces next. I hope they meet and just kill each other. I really don't want to fight either of them.

Part of me also hopes it's not Barlee that just died and that he, somehow, will be who I face for the victory. I'll have no trouble killing him. For the first time, I'm glad Garret is dead. If we were the final two, I would win, but part of me would die in the arena. It's good he's gone. He's safe now. No one can ever hurt him again.

I pack up my kit and then head off towards the river. It has to end somewhere and I want to find where. I don't really think as I walk. There's nothing bearable worth thinking about and I don't dare talk in case someone is nearby. All of the terrified children are dead now, the other three left alive are hardened and most likely all killers.

By sundown I figure I've gone a good twenty miles. I find a sturdy tree a few hundred yards from the river and climb up to a fork. I tie my belongings to the tree then take out the remaining fish meat and start to eat. I don't particularly like cold fish, but I'm not to keen on lighting a fire right now. The anthem starts to play and I look up for an opening. The seal is replaced by a picture and the fish slips through my fingers.

It's Pisces.

My mouth falls open and I close it quickly but my lip is quivering uncontrollably. I can't cry, though, I'll look weak. I press my lips together but I can't tear my gaze away from his picture. I memorize his face one more time then he's gone forever.

My appetite's gone. I stuff the fish into the wrapping and stow it into my bag. I set up my sleeping bags and then burrow down to get warm. I can't sleep, though. I can only think.

Memories flood my mind like a tidal wave, taking me back to when we were younger, before I started thinking about boys as, well, _boys _and not as just playmates of the opposite gender. We'd been good friends, then. We practiced together in the Trials. He'd been annoyed when Finnick Odair volunteered early—pretty much everyone was.

Oh, Finnick. He must be upset right now, but he won't show how much. Unless he really wants to churn up sympathy, then he'll make sure everyone realizes how tragic this is for him. Knowing Finnick, he might just do that. '_Poor, poor Finnick,' _they'll say._ 'Just lost one of his oldest friends and he might lose the other before the week is out…'_

I want to help. I doubt Pisces would be mad if he knew I used his death to gain me support. I sit up and put my face in my hands. I stay like that for a while then I slowly lift my head. "I'll miss him too, Finnick." I murmur.

I take the knife out of my boot and the cloth out of my pocket. I pull out the wooden fish and carefully etch Pisces' name on the bottom of the fish. "Pisces Quin," I murmur as I carve. "District 4. 4th place." Then I chuckle at the irony.

I wrap the carvings back up and tuck them in my pocket then slip the knife back into my boot.

'_It'll be alright,'_ Garret whispers. '_He's safe with me.' _

I feel a little better now. Smiling, I snuggle back down into the warmth of my sleeping bag.

"Goodnight, Pisces." I whisper then add silently. _Goodnight, Garret._

It's early morning when I wake again. I yawn and sit up, stretching my arms. I give my head a shake and look around sleepily. There are a few moments of bliss and then everything comes back and I sigh. The Hunger Games, Garret's dead, Pisces' dead, three of us left. I give my head another quick shake and get out my breakfast. After my meal I fold up my sleeping bags and load up. I keep following the river, determined to reach the end. I wonder what if I can even get to the end. Will it be like the abyss Haymitch Abernathy found during the 2nd Quarter Quell? Will something block my path?

I can only wander and wonder.

The day heats up as expected and I take my jacket off so I don't get heatstroke. I chug water by the gallon. It's like the Gamemakers are trying to smother us. The air is thick and heavy yet again. The river seems to be losing its cool temperature. I feel like hurling a bunch of foul words at the Gamemakers. How is baking us alive amusing? The animals are sure upset about it.

_Wait a second, _I think.

I spin around, searching wildly. Something's wrong. Something's really wrong. The animals are terrified. I can actually see little critters fleeing. An entire flock of mockingjays fly towards me, calling out in fear. Some of their cries sound like screams from fallen tributes. I shiver and look in the way they're coming from. Then I'm screaming right along with them.

They're muttations, obviously. They look like giant rats with shaggy gray fur, huge talon-like claws, big ears, and thick tails. They make horrible snarling squeaky screeches.

'_Run, Dylan, run!'_ Garret screams in my head.

I turn and run with the fleeing mockingjays. I manage to stop screaming as I propel myself along the riverbank. I can hear their heavy footsteps and when I risk a glance back I can see them a few hundred yards behind me, lumbering along with the intent to kill. I veer away from the water and head into the trees.

The muttations scream.

My breath comes in heavy gasps and I when the world starts to blur, I realize I'm crying. I reach up and wipe the tears away.

'_Go, go, go!' _He screams.

Keep running, got to keep running. The natural animals have long since left me behind but the muttations pursue me relentlessly. I don't dare climb a tree; they'll just knock it over or climb up. The Gamemakers wouldn't have made them susceptible to water—it's a swamp.

Ahead I can see the river again. I don't even want to know how I'm back at it. Keep running, just keep running, Dylan. My friends and family must be glued to the screens. I won't let them see me killed by mutts.

I leap into the river and swim towards the other side. The mutts scream again and I scream automatically, looking over my shoulder. There are three of them and they're almost to the riverbank. I flounder out of the water and run for a willow tree near the bank. I spot a gap in the roots, big enough for me to squeeze into. That'll work.

Something lifts me off the ground. I scream and thrash around. It's the mutts! They've got me by my pack! My precious pack! My supplies!

'_Forget the pack! Go, get under the tree!' _Garret orders.

I pull a knife out of my belt and saw through one strap with three strokes and then I plummet to the ground. I hit hard and manage to dive into the gap between the roots. I press myself as far away from the opening as I can.

The mutts scream and shriek. I glance up and see them trying to get their paws through. I see a flash of their crazed red eyes. One of them gets through and then it swipes. Fiery pain shoots through my leg instantly. I scream and I try to shift away, stabbing at the paw with a knife. The blade hits the mark and the paw withdraws while its owner screeches loudly in pain.

I put my hands over my head and curl into a little ball. Their screeching overshadows every other sound, including the screams I feel leaving my throat. I feel the ground shake as they stomp and scratch and try to get down to me. Dirt rains down on me.

Someone's cannon fires and the muttations stop screaming. I raise my head and listen. The muttations make clucking sounds for a moment and then I hear their heavy footfalls as they leave. I lay there, gasping and crying for a few minutes. Garret whispers quietly, soothingly, telling me it will be alright. I calm down after a while but I still wait, ignoring the pain, in case they come back and then push myself up and peer out of the small gully.

A quick 180 shows that the muttations are gone and their paw prints are a clear indication of the way I will most definitely not be going. I crawl out of my hiding place, undo my belt and strip off my quiver and bow. I feel around for my trident. It must've gotten caught on my pack when the—

My pack! I look around for it and spot it near the edge of the willow's branches. I swallow. It's ruined, along with most of the supplies within, most likely. Some of the supplies are scattered around. The trident is on the clear other side of the tree along with the net that held it in place.

A stinging pain in my leg brings my attention back to more important matters. I look down at my leg and gasp. The fabric is shredded below the knees and through the dirt and grime, I can see the blood. I'm terrified of what I'll find underneath that.

I pick up a knife and cut off the bottom half of my pants. I peel away the fabric and a tiny scream escapes my throat. My leg is an angry shade of red and three horrible gashes have ruined the soft flesh on my left shin. Tears pool in my eyes and a few of them escape but I don't dare lose it. I carefully turn over and crawl towards the river on my hands and knees.

I stick my leg in the water and the relief is immediate. The cold water soothes the burning ache and it cleans out the wound, wiping the blood off my leg. I splash water on my face and lean back on my hands. After a while I remove my leg from the water and stare at it mournfully. That's horrible.

'_You've seen worse.'_ Garret says.

_Yeah, but not on my own body!_ I think.

'_Calm down. Then go find the medical kit.'_

I slowly crawl over to the remains of my pack and look for the first aid kit. It's not there. I grunt and crawl around the tree looking for the small box. I toss the things that survived the destruction into a pile. Finally I find it in one of the last places I look, of course. Stupid mutts.

I open it to make sure everything is fine. A bottle of something shattered but the gauze is wrapped in plastic and, therefore, was unharmed by the liquid. I take it out and some antibacterial cream. I carefully rub the cream along the scratches, wincing every few seconds. I bind my leg with the gauze then close the kit and try to stand. Pain shoots up my leg when I put weight on it and I search the kit for the remaining two pain pills my sponsors sent me weeks ago, only to realize that only bits remain of them. The rest have been dissolved in the spilt liquid.

I slam it shut and toss it over to the pile of stuff that survived. I slowly limp over to the trident and carry it over to the rest of my supplies. I have no plans to leave this tree for a while so I slowly haul everything back to my little gully.

The sleeping bags were shredded, but together the remains should be enough to keep me warm. I sort through the stuff I have left and decide what I'll keep with me when I travel. Without my pack I can't keep as much with me. However, I don't think the Games will be lasting much longer, so that's good. Only a little food survived and I'm hungry after running for my life. The river is right there so I guess I can always fish later. My last cracker and the remaining otter meat are eaten without another thought on the matter.

A quick check of my bandages sends me right back out to the river with my first aid kit and some knives to defend myself in case those muttations come back. The effort of moving around so much as already made me bleed through the original wrappings. I sit with my leg in the water for a while and I lean back on my hands, staring up at the bright blue sky. For once there are no trees to block my view. I keep my ears pealed for the sound of footfalls.

I shiver as I recall their horrid screeching and the menacing sound of their steps. Those sounds will haunt me forever. Then I sit straight up and gasp. There had been a cannon blast. Someone had died. Was that the intent of the mutts? It had certainly been what had called them off, that's for sure. I shudder. Three deaths in less than thirty-six hours. First Annalee and Pisces, now either Barlee or Sawyer.

I have another few hours before sunset so I won't know until then. It doesn't matter who died—ok, it does, but that's not my point—there are only two of us left. Either I kill the last tribute or they kill me.

I pull my leg out of the water and gasp softly. The flesh around the wounds is turning an evil shade of green. Those claws must've had some sort of poison on them or something. The world starts to spin and I gasp down air.

'_Calm down, calm down_.' Garret says. '_Think, Dylan. You know some nature stuff. What plants can you use right now?'_

I wrack my brain for what I know about plants that draw out poison, but none of them grow in this landscape.

'_Then use the medicine again!'_ Garret says impatiently.

I open the first aid kit and look through frantically. Antibacterial cream. I already tried it but another coating won't hurt. I take that back. It stings like hell! I try to tolerate it as I search for something else. I doubt any of this stuff is designed for poison like this.

I look up at the sky, ready to ask for aid, and I laugh in relief. I catch the parachute and open the container it carries. Inside is a cream the same color as the green skin on my leg. "Thank you!" I say. I rub it over the cuts and then over the skin for good measure.

The relief is almost instant. The throbbing from the poison ceases, the stinging from the antibacterial cream stops. I gasp out a laugh and watch in fascination and horror as gunk and pus oozes from the wounds. I sink my leg back into the water and allow the water to carry the foul stuff away. I lie on my back and relax as the river and cream do their work.

I must've dozed off because it feels like seconds later that the anthem is playing. I sit up, pulling my leg out of the water, and wait. Wait to see who died at the paws of the mutts. The seal vanishes. I hold my breath. Barlee, the boy tribute from District 9, stares down at me from the sky.

So the boy finally died. Congratulations to him for even making it this far. Poor kid probably stood no chance against those rat mutts. I survived by speed, swimming, and a knife. Sawyer probably used her expert tree skills to evade them. What did Barlee have? His district is known to produce some decent hunters, but I can't place the image of Barlee cowering on the rooftop with a memory of some boys practicing hunting during the Trials.

Well, obviously he had something to have finished third place, but it wasn't enough. His picture vanishes forever but I know I will never forget it. Nor anyone else's in this Hunger Games.

A few deep breaths later I feel a pang of sadness. I have to kill Sawyer. The Sawyer I took under my wing during training, who I promised never to hang. The Sawyer I became friends with. It's cruel. Did the Gamemakers recall the friendliness between us during training? Did they kill Barlee off on purpose so they could force two friends to fight? I bite back the snarls in my throat. They probably did, there way of making me pay for surviving their whole chip deal.

'_Well,' _Garret says dryly. '_You kind of deserve it after what you did to poor Skyler.'_

"Shut up!" I growl then clamp my mouth shut. Great, now people are going to think I'm talking to myself.

I apply another layer of cream, rewrap my leg, and then I make my way over to my little den. It's warmer underground, which is good because the holes in my sleeping bags don't help keep the warm air in.

The next day is very lazy. The Games are drawing to a close and I can feel it in the air. I won't spend another forty-eight hours in this arena either way. Still, I'd like to use as much time as possible to recuperate before the inevitable battle with Sawyer and I have no idea how the Games have been treating her. I rest. I dump the useless remains of old supplies into the river. I fish. I tend to my leg. I weave a sack out of grass and reeds.

I talk for the cameras to hear. To Mom who has probably got less sleep than I have, worrying and watching. To Dad who is so stressed he probably couldn't focus at work and runs to the television every time I'm on screen and for every major update—I know he is listening to me talk now. To Luke who didn't want me in the Games, who must be proud of me in some way for my efforts. To Evan and Lana who must be alternating between training and watching the screen even when they're not supposed to. To my friends that must be wondering if they really made the right decision by helping me in the reaping. To my friends that I trained with who must be cheering me on. To Marrian, my mentor, my trainer, my most secure lifeline.

When I'm not talking I'm humming or singling softly, wordlessly. One or two of the mockingjays carry a melody of mine along, but mostly they trade their own tunes back and forth. I laugh to myself. I've never been impressive to the mockingjays, or any bird for that matter. Not even seagulls like me. But I love them…when broiled and coated with that sauce mom makes.

I catch enough to feed me through two days if I'm careful before I knock off and build a fire. I have two matches left and they both go into making a decent fire for my kills. I fuel it with twigs and the remains of some spoiled supplies. I'm quick about my work in case Sawyer decides to come towards the fire. Once everything edible is cooked I extinguish the fire, dispose of the guts, and scurry to my den to eat and rest.

Six rounds of the cream have left my leg feeling much better. The skin looks normal and stuff no longer oozes out, but I'm glad I have a relatively hidden hiding spot because running is definitely out of the question.

Night comes, the anthem plays, the seal remains up the entire time, then they both vanish. I check the supplies in my woven sack once more then apply another round of cream to my leg and try to stretch a bit before I crawl down into my den. There's nothing else to do. I curl up in the remains of my sleeping bags and try to find sleep.

Water wakes me up.

I sit straight up, hitting my head on the ceiling, and look around wildly. Water is pouring into my den from the holes in the roots. I grab my bag of supplies, don't bother with the sleeping bags, throw my weapons over my back, and crawl out of my spot. The river is overflowing, creeping steadily out from its banks.

'_This is it. They're going to drive you two together somewhere.'_ Garret says. Is that anxiousness I hear in my hallucination's voice?

"But where?" I whisper.

I wrack my brains. The Cornucopia, maybe?

'_A lot of final fights happen there.' _Garret says.

Out on the plains? But it could take _days_ to reach them from here.

'_And if the arena is flooding again, they both will be submerged. So that just leaves—'_

"The island," I murmur. The island where they made all the tributes who survived the first day gather during the respite where they started the whole allies thing to entertain the audience and eat at their hearts, where I was teamed with Garret, where Ellery and her ally, Proy, were killed.

I look down at the water that's pushing my ankles. The water definitely has a current again. I don't really think about it, I just starting walking with it.

For the first few minutes I can walk easily, then the water starts passing my shins, then my knees. By the time it's at my thighs I decide walking is pointless. While struggling to stay in place, I quickly retrieve the remaining seven knives from my bag and start stuffing them in my belt, my pockets, inside my jacket, up my sleeves. I tuck the bottle of medicine into my pants pocket with the carvings and Garrets token. I pull out some fish meat and stuff it in my mouth quickly then I secure my bag to my back as much as I can, but I won't be upset if I lose it. I've removed the necessities. My weapons are a greater priority than thinks like the cooking skillet.

With my hands free I kick off from the ground and propel myself along effortlessly. The current gives me a nice push along so I don't have to work my arms and legs as much. When my arms and legs start to ache I stop swimming and let the current gently push me along, treading water to stay afloat until I keep going.

Things start to look familiar. The low-dip branch on a tree that the others in my alliance clung to for a rest as we swam here the first time. The tip of the rock that Jules banged his foot on and cussed out. And, finally, the island itself. I dive down and swim over to some branches. The water is high enough that I can hide among the leaves without being seen. I don't see Sawyer anywhere. How far away was she?

I lick my lips and keep looking, wondering. She could be here now, hiding and waiting like me. The Gamemakers won't tolerate that for long. They'll make it impossible for us to stay off the island. This is the final fight and they want blood. Might as well get things going.

"Marrian," I say loud enough for the cameras to catch. "If I win, do _not_ let them do anything crazy to me. If I don't win, make sure you give my letters to everyone."

'_Good luck,' _Garret whispers. '_Win, Dylan. Win for me and Pisces and Ellery. Got it? You win for us.'_

_I will. __I think._

I crouch on a branch and use it to push myself out of the trees. I keep underwater for as long as possible and surface close to the island then I climb out onto the dry land. Knife in hand; I stand there for all of Panem and my last enemy to see.

And see me she does.

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	15. Victory

**Yes, it's been over a month, and you've probably spent every minute wondering what happens to Dylan and when I would update. I know it's completely been consuming your lives! So, worry no longer! I have a new chapter.**

**For those of you who don't have me on AA, I have a Twilight series I'm working on and my editor has been busy for a while with one of the stories that had like...38 pages in one go ^_^ Promise it won't be this long again, as long as Clare and I aren't busy busy.**

**So, without further adieu, the final battle of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games! Read the A/N at the bottom plz!**

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Sawyer swims far more gracefully than before. Nothing like a District 4 native, but it's obvious she's been practicing during her time in the arena. She has a knife between her teeth. Her face is hollow, caked in mud and covered in scratches. Her long brown hair is knotted and dirty. I imagine I don't look that swell either, though.

She steps onto the dry land and removes the knife from her teeth. Her jacket is long gone and her shirt is ripped and stained with blood. Her pants are more cut up than mine. She pulls the axe out of her belt. The pretty green eyes I remember from before are no more. The color remains, but the brightness has gone forever. They are haunted, a bit crazed, and they are focused directly on me. Looking into those eyes I feel suspiciously more like prey than predator.

She has not only seen death but she's probably unleashed it on a fellow tribute. The arena has changed her in a way it wasn't able to change me. Poor, poor Sawyer. Does she even remember our friendship?

'_What are you doing?' _Garret hisses. '_Don't think like that.'_

He's right, I have to kill her. I could do it now. One simple toss of the knife in my hand and she'll be dead before she can reach me… I could do it. Right now. I should.

She waits at the edge of the land, half crouched and panting from effort.

"Hey Sawyer, been having fun?" I call.

Sawyer pulls her lips back from her teeth.

"Was it you that killed off Pisces?" I ask.

She nods and grins savagely, pleased. "Cut him an' hung him!"

I do my best not to shudder. Sawyer was terrified of nooses back in training. It's difficult to fake the kind of fear I saw when she witnessed me easily constructing one. How could Sawyer have managed to make a noose, let alone kill someone with it, with that kind of fear?

'_Because Sawyer didn't do it_,' Garret says.

I realize, with a small gasp, that he's right.

_Sawyer_ didn't do it. Not the Sawyer I remember, anyway. Sometime between our last time on this island and Pisces' murder, she lost herself. Had she lost it before the alliances were terminated or was it something after that pushed her over? It couldn't have been the mutts since Pisces died before they came, unless some other mutts that I didn't know about had been unleashed on her. My friend Sawyer is gone and all she left behind this instinct-driven lunatic who probably has no thoughts about me except that I am something else that has to die. The Gamemakers don't want tributes like her to win. It looks bad. I've still got some sanity. They'll want me to win so they can pretty me up and make me seem human again. Knowing I have that kind of support gives me a big surge of delight. I smirk and flip the knife into a throwing position.

"You're not Sawyer anymore," I say. "Not my friend."

An unidentifiable emotion crosses her face and she looks even more vicious. She growls at me.

I throw the knife at her and whip another one out of my pocket. She deflects the first one with her axe then runs towards me and flings her knife as she moves. _I taught her to do that,_ I think as I duck to avoid it. I throw my knife at her and she jumps back at the last second, stumbling, landing chaotically in the water. As she momentarily flails around, I pull the bow over my shoulder and load it.

Sawyer bursts out of the water and I release the arrow. She ducks beneath the water as I load up the bow again. She surfaces a few feet behind where the first arrow struck, struggling against the current that pushes her towards the island. I fire again and she dives under. I grit my teeth as I load up again. When she surfaces again I don't fire but remain poised. She floats there for a second then lunges for the island. I fire. The arrow misses its mark by about an inch and hits her in the shoulder instead of the head.

She shrieks in pain and wrenches the arrow out. Blood streams out of the wound, and she snaps it across her knee then throws the sharp end towards me. I duck to avoid it and run towards her, loading my bow once more. I fire and she drops to the ground, rolling back into the water. I draw another arrow and wait. She comes running out of the water with one of the arrows I shot before and hurls it at me. I use my current arrow to deflect the shot. She snarls and runs back into the water again. I reach for another arrow and find myself groping at empty air. I snarl angrily and yank the quiver over my shoulders and toss the useless thing on the ground.

Sawyer jumps out of the water again and I automatically reach for a knife and throw it. She avoids it, naturally, but I see a smirk on her otherwise deranged face before she ducks under _yet_ again.

I straighten out of my throwing stance and stare at the water.

'_Think!' _Garret says. '_Why did she smirk?'_

Was it because I missed?

I look down at my empty quiver for a moment and when it dawns on me I feel like slapping myself. It's quite a good plan, I remember learning something similar during my training. Her attempts at attacking are just a series of ruses. She's waiting until I've used all my weapons up. Then she'll come in for the kill with her axe.

I glance at the bow in my hand disgustedly and Garret says:_ 'Well, she's certainly doing a good job._'

Sawyer surfaces again.

I extend my hand towards her and curl my fingers invitingly. She ducks underwater once more. I wait but she doesn't resurface. After about twenty seconds I get nervous and start looking around. Just in time to see her raise the axe to hack my head off. I gasp and drop down to protect my head. I hear a metallic clang and feel the trident on my back tremor. Oh.

I launch myself at her legs and shove her to the ground. Sawyer swings that damn axe at me again. I duck then grab her hand and bite down hard. The taste is revolting. She shrieks and thrashes about, trying to throw me off. She manages to topple me and I roll away, yanking two knives out of my jacket. She swings her axe at me and the tip grazes my leg, right on the wounds from the mutt. It's my turn to scream and I feel a surge of fresh blood on my leg.

Sawyer licks her lips and grins, realizing I have a weak spot. I jump up, hurling a knife at her. She deflects it with her axe but the second one grazes her cheek and blood spills from the wound. I produce another knife from my pocket and throw it at her. She skitters back into the water.

"Oh no you don't!" I snarl, turning around, and limp into the water.

Back in my element, I dive under and look around for her. I cautiously start to swim around the island. I surface twice, quietly, before I finally spot Sawyer on the island again. She's crouched like an animal, one of my knives in her hand, waiting for me. She turns and I duck under and swim around a bit more, fighting the insisting current. When I surface I see her turning away from my direction, still searching. I carefully creep out of the water, drawing my last knife. She turns and I freeze for half a second before I'm in motion again.

I run towards her and she swipes the axe at me. I throw the knife and she brings the axe up to protect her face. I snarl out a curse. I've only got my trident left. I back away, tugging at the netting to get the trident off my back and into my hands . My woven bag falls to the ground with a clang and I have the trident in front of me.

At the sight of it, Sawyer hisses at me like a cat and runs towards me with a knife. I swing the trident around and smack her with it, leaving gashes across her chest and stomach. A series of agonized shrieks erupt from her throat and she drops the axe, bringing her hands around to staunch the flow of blood. The cuts aren't deep, but if this goes on much longer, she might collapse from blood loss. Of course, if my leg doesn't stop bleeding soon, so will I.

I pull back to stab her with the trident but she ducks and rolls away at the last second. She jumps into a crouch and glares at me, bleeding heavily, lips drawn back in a snarl, eyes wild, mud, blood, and grass stuck to her body. She springs forward, ready to kill, and avoids my trident completely. I bring it around to intercept her but she slams into me, knocking me to the ground. She kicks the trident out of my gasp and I feel her nails scratching at my face. I lunge upwards and throw her off me then crawl frantically towards my woven bag. I reach inside, fix my hand around the handle, and swing the iron skillet around just as she tries to jump me again.

It hits her face with a loud clang and she falls back with a howl of agony. Still clutching the skillet, I scramble back towards the trident. Sawyer latches onto my boot, causing me to fall face-first into the mud. I spit it out of my mouth and wham her hands with the skillet, hopefully breaking some bones. She lets go, but she's shifted my boot enough for me to feel it. I've become so used to it that I forgot it was there until now. I release the pot and reach down to grab the fold up knife out of my boot.

I pull it out just as she screams and throws herself on top of me. Blood drips from her nose onto my face, the blood from her front seeps into my clothes. Her hands clench around my throat and she starts to choke me. I gasp, trying to shove her off me while also trying to get my fingers to release the knife blade. Her eyes are savage and her face is crazed and she thinks victory is near. I fumble with the knife to get it open and as it springs to life I ram it deep into Sawyer's stomach.

She gasps, her eyes widening. I twist the blade, pull it out, and shove it in again, higher up. She gasps, making a choking noise. Her fingers tighten as she coughs up blood onto my face. I resist the strong urge to gag. My hands release the knife and they seize her wrists, wrenching her hands away from my throat and shove her off me. I back away from her, gasping for air and massaging my throat.

Sawyer's on the ground, choking and gasping for air. The wounds on her stomach bleed heavily, further staining her ruined shirt. The other wounds I inflicted seem to stand out like flares. Sawyer's head turns and she stares at me. And for the last moments of her life, the girl is looking at me is the Sawyer I met at the beginning. Her gaze, though pained, is clearer than it'd been since I saw her swimming towards the island.

I force myself to hold her gaze as her breathing slows and her eyes slowly glaze over.

For the briefest of moments, her lips twitch into her smile before they go slack. She finally falls still.

Her cannon fires.

I drop to the ground next to Sawyer and oh so carefully remove the knife from her stomach.

'_Let's go, Dylan.'_ Garret murmurs.

"Goodbye, my friend." I whisper then back away to the water, feeling numb.

A bird lets out a cry and a hovercraft appears. The talons descend and they gently encase Sawyer and carry her up. The hovercraft vanishes. The world is completely silent except for the water lapping at the banks, then the trumpets begin to blare. I shriek in alarm.

The voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts out, "Ladies and Gentlemen! I am pleased to present the victor of the Sixty-ninth Hunger Games, Dylan Syle! I give you—the female tribute of District 4!"

I look up at the sky wildly as deafening cheers ring out in the arena. The sound pounds against my ears, erasing all other noise, like the shrieking of the rat mutts as they tried to reach me in my den. I think I scream as I drop into a crouch on the ground, still gripping the knife, waiting for the screamers to come out and fight.

A hovercraft appears over my head and a ladder drops down. I look up at the hovercraft, then at the ladder. I figure that whatever awaits me up there won't be as bad as the screaming down here. I dart over to it quickly. The current on the surface of the ladder freezes me in place and it lifts me off the ground and up into the hovercraft. My eyes flit around the area I can see to make sure nothing's coming. The doors close, the ladder releases me, and I stumble away from them right into the clutches of unfamiliar people.

All my childhood training has made me automatically react defensively to alien contact and the weeks in the arena have only sharpened my instinct to free myself quickly. My mind hasn't left the arena yet. I'm pretty sure that these people are just more things trying to kill me. I struggle, shrieking defiantly. I free the hand that's still clutching the knife I killed Sawyer with and I stab it into the shoulder of the guy holding my other arm. He screams and I wrench myself free. The others advance on me, grasping my wrist until I drop my weapon, holding me still as I shriek, talking soothingly.

"Let go!" I scream, still fighting. "Get off me! Garret! Help me!"

They drop me on a bed. I thrash around, screaming my head off. They grab onto my limbs, shout words that mean nothing, and strap me to the bed. I continue to scream, trying to lunge from the bed. Then something jabs me in the arm and the world slips away.

When I drift into consciousness sometime later I am greeted to the unexpected vision of an unfamiliar room and I look around wildly. _Where am I? Where am I?_ I let out a cry of terror and struggle, trying to get free, but there's a restraint holding me down _again_. My hands fumble with it uselessly. I call out for Garret, my ally. Where is he? Was he caught too? Is he—?

I jerk my head up around when a door appears in the wall and a middle-aged woman walks in carrying a tray. I growl at her and her eyes widen in fear. That's what makes me remember. I'm out of the Hunger Games. I've won. Garret is dead. And this woman is the motherly Avox who fixed my bed in the Training Center.

I swallow back everything that threatens to spill out and force myself to visibly relax. The Avox woman sets the tray on my thighs and presses a button that lifts my bed into a sitting position. She adjusts my pillows and I watch her carefully. She gives me a reassuring smile before handing me a spoon.

Once she's gone I reach for the food, then stop when I see my arm. Simple bandages cover the spots where they inserted my tracker and the other chip. Tubes stick out from my right arm into the wall behind me. My skin is soft; the wounds I received are faded. I shift my leg enough that the hospital gown I'm in isn't covering the spot where I should see ugly scars from the rat mutts. They're healing quickly.

I scowl when I look at the food. A measly bowl of broth, peach slices still in the juice, and a glass of water. That's all they're giving me? I haven't eaten since before my fight with Sawyer! Who knows how long I've been out since then? There's always about a week after the Games that's set aside for returning the half-insane tribute to as human as possible. Despite the hunger pains I felt before the meal, I have to force the last peach slices down my throat.

After I finish the food I look down at the stupid band around my waist and try to discern how to remove it. Physical confinement does not bode well with me. I don't even have time to really plot, thought, because I feel a cool liquid seeping through one of the tubes into my arm and I pass out before I can protest.

I wake up again. The Avox returns. I get more food. A slightly larger portion this time, for which I am grateful. Then the cold liquid gets sent through the tube and I'm knocked out yet again. That happens over and over. Each time I notice I feel stronger. Sometimes I think I hear people talking over me. My name, said in different voices and accents, filters through to my brain sometimes. Garret, I know his voice all too well, murmurs soothingly to me. Sometimes he hums the lullaby he hummed to me that night in the arena. Sometimes he sings it. Finally, sometime later, I wake up and the first thing I notice is I'm no longer restrained.

I sit up slowly so I don't pass out from dizziness and look down at my arms. The tubes are gone, all trace of their existence erased, along with the scars from where they removed my tracker. I check my legs. The scars from the mutts are gone, as are all the ones I acquired during training. Even the one Nita left that damaged my leg. When I look at my abdomen, I notice the scar from my surgery is gone, too. I don't even feel the tingling there from the damage Nita left behind. It's like they gave me a perfect body.

My eyes widen in horror at the thought. A perfect body wouldn't just mean flawless skin but… I check my figure and scowl. It's not much, but I'm definitely a bit bigger up top. Plus, I'm pretty sure my limbs are a bit thicker than before, not so stick-like. Well this is just _great!_ Apart from anything else, I'm going to need new clothes when I get home!

Garret laughs and the familiar voice in my head calms me down.

Oh well. I'm so freaking rich now that it won't be a big deal. Hell I could buy all my friends and family completely new wardrobes. The thought of spoiling my seamstress mother, who has always loved to stare at the beautiful fabrics in the shops that we just never could spare enough money for, brings a smile to my face.

I carefully stand up, finding my legs to be quite sturdy, and take a few steps. No wobbliness, no pain. I smile and walk about a bit more. The outfit at the foot of my bed makes me freeze. Brand new, never been in the arena, but an exact duplicate of what all tributes wore, and I'm supposed to put it on to greet my team. I think it's to create the illusion that I just emerged from the arena, clean and healthy and I'm walking straight from the hovercraft to my team. Anyone who has a brain (or even part of a brain) knows this isn't true. Some people like to delude themselves into thinking it is.

'_You don't have to put it on.' _Garret says.

The idea of just leaving the room in the hospital gown is tempting, but I doubt they'll open the door until I'm in those clothes.

'_Don't worry, I won't peek.'_

_You'd better not. _Then I ask myself how voices in my head could _peek._ I really am going nuts.

I get dressed quickly and sit down on my bed impatiently. They're obviously monitoring me, so how hard is it to open the damn door? When it finally begins to open, I'm off the bed and out of that room before the door opens completely. I'm in an empty hallway with no other doors. I look around nervously. Do I have to figure a way out of here myself? Is this some sort of test my mentors forgot to mention?

"Dylan, over here."

My feet automatically move towards her voice before my mind registers it. "Marrian!" I gasp. Marrian, Reno, Finnick, Mags, Beril, Zaire, Tina Sheen, and Alaina stand in an antechamber just down the hall. I walk right into Marrian's arms. She's the closest thing I have to a mother here.

"You did great," Marrian congratulates.

"I'm proud of you, Dylan." Reno thumps me on the back during our hug.

Beril squeezes me tightly. "You were excellent. You should have heard the people screaming for you."

Mags smiles at me fondly. "I am glad you're alive. Good girl."

"Well done." Zaire doesn't hug me, but his praise is enough.

Finnick smiles at me and hugs me. "An excellent job, if I do say so myself."

I pull back. "How bad was it for Pisces?"

Finnick flinches.

"That bad?"

Finnick doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to.

"Oh my gosh! I can't believe it! You won! You won! I wasn't sure there at the end! Oh, good girl!" Tina's sobbing so hard that her makeup is running again.

"Oh, Dylan." Alaina hugs me tightly.

I round on Marrian. "You let them change me."

Marrian sighs. "I tried to talk them out of it. We all yelled at them for a while, but we eventually reached a compromise. Trust me, if the Gamemakers had had their way…"

I flinch. "Er, ok then, thanks for that."

I don't tell them about Garret. They'll think I'm crazy.

"So, shall we?" Alaina gestures towards the elevators behind them. "We have work to do before the broadcast. I have a beautiful dress already made up. You'll love it."

"I hope so." I smile.

Alaina doesn't respond as we ride up to the lobby. I look around in surprise. We must've been even deeper underground than the gym. The windows to the outside are darkened and a few guards stand to attention, as I'm lead across the lobby to the tribute elevators. We get in, Alaina presses the button for my floor, and we ride up in silence.

When the door opens I'm ambushed immediately by four familiar, brightly colored people screaming my name. I try to escape, not liking the confinement, but after a moment I just relax and let my prep team hug me. Iris cries, Cevin kisses my cheeks, Lynnea pats me on the back, and Simona squeezes both my hands in hers.

"I was screaming my head off when you won!" Iris blurts out. "I was so afraid there when she started to choke you!"

"Me too," Cevin agrees.

I give them the best smile I can. "Well, I'm alive, so don't worry."

They lead me into the dining room and I'm fed a proper meal. Shrimp, warm bread, coconut meat, and pineapple juice—I'm salivating before I even sit down. Alaina notices. So when I'm denied seconds, she's not surprised that I throw a small fit. (Hey, I just won the Games. I'm allowed to be a brat if I want.) Still, I do see the logic behind her words.

"You eat too much and you'll throw it all up from the nerves."

And that's that.

After they eat their fill, which makes me hmph at them loudly as I watch, I'm escorted to my room and Alaina goes off somewhere, probably to get my dress. Cevin goes to get the proper settings for my shower and the others help me get out of my tribute clothes.

"Burn them." I hiss, startling them all. "Burn them and throw a party about it."

"I would for you," Simona says. "But these are preserved. The tribute's clothes the tributes had on when they were pulled from the arena are displayed in their launch rooms. In the victor's case, both sets are displayed."

"I still think you should burn them." I mutter then head into the shower. I spend a fair amount of time in the shower, just letting the water wash over me, until Iris comes into the bathroom and demands I exit at once.

Back in my room they stand me in front of the mirror and shudder when I see my skin. It was just as I'd thought. Every last scar I ever had is gone. I still have a ridiculous amount of freckles, but I think I might be missing some… Damn them. I like my freckles. What I find most haunting is, despite the alterations, I am very, very skinny. I've always been thin and despite the decent amount of food I had in the arena, I can see my ribs.

"It's called a full body polish," Simona explains when I ask exactly what they did to me. "Most victors get one. No one likes to see a scarred body."

_Of course they don't._ I think bitterly.

They get to work on my hair, nails, and makeup. They chatter away about the Games, constantly asking me questions, like what I thought about it. "What was going through your mind when you heard Garret's cannon?" or "Did you know how scary you looked standing over that boy from 10?"

I try to keep my tone interesting so they don't realize how much I just want them to shut up. After a while, they turn away from subjects that need my input so I tune them out.

Alaina returns with a light lavender dress and I smile at the sight of it. They help me into the undergarments then Alaina slides the dress over my head and I'm given simple blue sandals. I grin in delight when I see my reflection in the mirror. The top of the dress is shaped so it flatters what little, although now enhanced, chest I have and the straps are very thin. The bottom of the dress is about at my ankles. Around my waist is a long, flowing blue sash that matches my eyes. The dress ripples and billows when I move. My red hair flows in small waves down to my waist.

They are still going with the ocean-y look that she had from the beginning, but something about this dress has taken away the dangerous edges she was imposing from before. I guess there's no need for that anymore. Everyone knows what I've done and my enemies are dead. The thought makes my shoulders feel lighter. I stand a little straighter.

Some adjustments are made to my hair then they slide my feet into the sandals. I spin around, checking every angle in the mirror and my prep team cheers wildly.

Alaina gives me a quick kiss on the forehead then I'm whisked out of my room and down to the stage outside the Training Center.

This is my official presentation as the Hunger Games victor. First they'll introduce my prep team, then Tina, Alaina, Marrian and my other mentors, then finally, me. Alaina and my team deposit me in a dim room under the stage then hurry away to get changed and take their positions. Above me, the audience is going wild and the deafening roar of the crowd only increases when Caesar walks on stage. The way they scream, it reminds me of the feed played over the speakers when I won the Games, when I was in an almost delusional state. Hearing it again does nothing to help my nerves and I'm in a half-crouch before I realize I've moved.

"Dylan." Mags scuttles over to me and pulls me out of my crouch with a surprisingly strong grip. "Don't do that. Hurry, get on your plate." She guides me onto the metal cylinder that will lift me onto the stage.

"Be brave, little girl." Mags squeezes my silky soft hand in her wrinkled, tough one. "This will not be easy. Just remember, it's all over now."

She means the three-hour long rerun of the Hunger Games that I, like the rest of Panem, will be forced to watch. Only unlike everyone else, cameras will be watching my every move and will sometimes they will project my face in the corner of the screen.

"Ok." I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Thanks, Mags."

She pats my hand then scurries off towards what I assume are the plates that will lift her and the other five victors onto the stage.

I lick my lips and listen to the cheering escalate as my prep team takes their bows, followed by Tina Sheen, and Alaina. And just when I think they can't get any louder, the audience increases their volume as Marrian, Reno, Mags, Zaire, Beril, and finally Finnick take the stage. Then my plate begins to rise and a panel opens above me.

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**Now, since some of you have been asking, I'll just say it here and now. Dylan's story is not ending after the Hunger Games. As of right now, I'm working on chapter 30. This was chapter 15. We have a lot more story to get through :) The Color of Blood is about Dylan's life, not just her Games, but more of her dealing with the consequences of her decisions and learning to cope and soldier on, a lesson many of us need to learn. Garret's voice in her head is just one of the many hurdles she has to eventually jump.  
**

**And this story will also dive deep into the workings of District 4 _and _the Capitol since Miss Everdeen never really gave us a peak into the normal life of a normal victor, never mind a Career victor.  
**

**However, some of you may be wondering what to expect and may consider stopping. I've never seen any HG fics that focus on an OC victor in his/her life outside and beyond the arena w/o going into some crazy AU. **

**Let me say this: TCOB is designed to exist in cannon. I'm doing nothing that will change the actual Hunger Games trilogy outcome. Meaning, Finnick and Dylan will become very close friends, but will not be romantically involved. Nope. Not at all. **

** Some broad topics you can expect after Dylan returns home as a victor:**

**- A victor's perspective of the Capitol  
- Exploration of District 4 and the way of life  
- The 70th (Annie Cresta's) Hunger Games  
- Lots of Finnick, for all you fangirls  
- Dylan's various interpersonal relationships  
- The Rebellion  
- The 74th and 75th Hunger Games  
**

**Alright, I'm going to shut up before I spoil anything major. But, this is chapter 15 and I'm going to try to end the story before or at chapter 35. **

**Review/fav/tell your friends!**


	16. Watching

**This chapter is pretty much a review of everything that's happened thus far that also answers a lot of questions. :) So don't skip it. Next chapter we progress further into the story.**

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The light is blinding and the cheers are so loud that for a moment, I'm back in the arena, hiding in the little cave while the muttations try to reach me with their long, grasping, deadly claws. My breathing increases and I prepare to make a run for it, when Caesar puts his arm around me comfortingly. Good ol' Caesar, still trying to help me out.

I force myself to relax, though I still want to bolt, and smile at Caesar. He's wearing his midnight blue suit, white gloves and shoes, and his hair is still flecked with blue powder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Dylan Syle!" Caesar announces.

'_Relax, Dylan, it's going to be ok'. _Garret says.

The cheering continues until I'm trembling. Caesar, underneath the many fabrics that make up his outfit, must feel it because he quiets the crowd and motions for me to head to the throne where the victor must sit during the recap. It's more comfortable than I expect as I settle back in to the seat.

The area goes dark and members of the crowd are hushing each other as the seal appears on a huge screen. I swallow and glance over at my mentors, then up at the mentors of the dead tributes. Despite what I may have done to their various tributes, most of them give me encouraging looks when they see me glancing their way.

The program begins with the reapings. Quick flashes of the tributes getting called up, except for me, Pisces, Sawyer, and Garret—our reapings are showed in full. Every year, the people who create this program have to decide what kind of story to make, then use clips accordingly. I wonder what they're playing at this time. As more clips flash by—the chariot rides, the training scores, our interviews—I see that they're definitely focusing on the four of us. I understand why they focus on Garret, he was my ally, but I don't get why Sawyer and Pisces are main ingredients in the whole mixture.

I get to see the Bloodbath in full, each and every kill. I see Leona's death for the first time and I hate Jules even more. She's kneeling to get another weapon—most likely the spear a few feet away—and Jules looks away from the other tributes. I can see him weighing his options before he picks up an axe and slams it into Leona's back. She gasps and collapses to the ground. Jules then throws the axe out into the field, near the body of Whisp from District 3. Leona lives maybe thirty more seconds and though she whispers it, the editors enhanced the audio so we can understand her last words.

"I'm sorry, Darik…love…you…" Then she goes limp.

I know my face must be on screen so I make sure I look as murderous as I feel. Whoever this Darik fellow is, I'm sure he and I agree that I didn't kill Jules painfully enough.

They show me killing Rinn, the bodies being lifted away, our night hunting, Natin's ugly death, me creeping towards the island then fleeing from Ol' Scaley. Silk hiding away some of the supplies back at camp so she would be prepared when she decided to slip away on her own. That plan backfired, of course, when Claudius ordered us to head to the island and the floodwaters washed away everything not secured in the Cornucopia. They alternate between shots of all the tributes swimming towards the island. Sterra and Barlee discover that their jackets are very buoyant and they don't even have to really try to stay afloat.

"Garret! Garret, wait!" Ellery flounders through the water, struggling to keep afloat (unaware about their jackets) as the water became higher than her head. Garret turns, sees his district partner struggling, then allows her to hang onto his back as he swims. So that's why they came to the island with her riding piggyback.

_You really did care about her, didn't you? _ I ask.

'_Yes,' _he says.

Claudius announcing the alliances, the table clicks into place, I run forward. They zoom in so everyone can see my initial anger at picking the 8 plate.

_I'm sorry about that,_ I thought. _I was hoping I'd get Pisces, you know? _

'_It's alright. I about had a heart attack when I saw you'd picked me.'_

_Yes, because I'm so scary._

'_No, you looked like you wanted to kill me.'_

The two of us flee and so do Sawyer and Barlee. Ellery runs to Proy and, very protectively, he shelters her with his body as they run towards the water. Then Arno's there, sword in hand, and cuts down Proy. The boy from 7 falls, his cannon fires, and Ellery, poor Ellery, falls to the ground and starts to thrash about, shrieking and screaming like a banshee. Everyone else on the island stares at the little girl and Arno, dumbfounded, walks towards her.

_Poor kid, _I think.

Garret says nothing.

They switch to a shot of Garret crying out in despair, "Ellery!" and me slapping his face, telling him to get a grip. The scene switches back to Ellery thrashing about. Arno raises his sword for the killing blow and her arm touches his boot. She stops screaming and her eyes fly open in time to see the sword descending. She screams again, a horrible sound that cuts off very abruptly as she dies.

Pisces scoops up Fleece and carries her across the water then they flee into the woods. Arno roughly grabs Sterra by the arm, hauling her towards the forest, and she yelps Barlee's name, but he's long gone. Silk and Lister from 11 flee together, so do Skyler and Annalee, and Jules and Hara. Garret and I raid the Cornucopia, Arno and Sterra show up, we run and they take their turn scavenging through the supplies until Arno decides it's unsafe for them to stay any longer and they leave.

The next half hour or so alternates between shots of all the allies getting to know each other in the days before the first alliance deaths. Some quickly produce information, eager for companionship in the sure twilight of their lives, like Annalee and Skyler. Some grudgingly start to tell about themselves, like Garret and I—they show my tirade about Finnick in full. I actually feel bad for Hara. She attempts to be nice to Jules, to make the best of their partnership, but he brushes her off as if she's nothing but a pest.

Both alliances were traveling when Hara spotted Sterra and Arno walking several hundred yards away, completely unaware of the proximity of their enemies. They creep after them and then begin to fight. The scene changes to Garret and I, hunting, then we hear the fight and head towards it. I have to watch Sterra and Arno die again. The screen shows me mouthing to Garret. We creep out, the parachute lands, and we begin to fight. I get to see Garret fight properly. He does very well; the death-blow was delivered to her midsection. When she falls he instantly looks apologetic. I go down when Jules hits my leg, Garret sees and abandons the dying Hara to protect me.

_You know, if I hadn't been in trouble, I swear you would've tried to save her life._ I tease.

'_That is nothing to joke about.'_ He says sternly and I shut up.

I stare at Hara until she dies. Jules falls, thrashing in agony. I crawl over, hiss to him, then slit his throat. He dies, Garret searches the packs. They don't linger over my injury for long before cutting away to the hovercrafts lifting the four bodies away. I get my gift of medicine.

The footage of the next four days is mostly Pisces and Fleece, Sawyer and Barlee, and Garret and I. They do cut to Silk and Lister and Skyler and Annalee occasionally, but it's clear who they're more interested in showing. Me, Garret, Pisces, and Sawyer. But _why_?

Pisces is relatively nice to Fleece. He's as impressed as I am at her capabilities even though she's lacking an arm. "I've had years to adapt." She reminds him at one point. She makes up for her missing arm with her teeth and even her feet. It's quite amazing, watching her prepare food and adjusting their supplies.

Sawyer and Barlee get along well. She comforts him when he sees Sterra's picture in the sky and listens patiently as he reminisces and cries a bit. She volunteers to stay up to guard and he slips off into a less than peaceful slumber and only wakes him once she can no longer keep her eyes open. They learn to swim and fish.

Silk is tolerant of Lister, but it's clear she doesn't have a very high opinion of him. Until he warns her about a serpent creeping towards her from the water and then kills it before she can even arm herself. After that she's more polite.

Skyler and Annalee don't delude themselves. They know neither of them will win the Games so they've decided to enjoy what time they have left. They have fun. I try to keep my face emotionless as I watch the weakest pair of tributes laugh, joke, and even play a few childish games. I doubt anything quite like this has ever happened in the Hunger Games. What they've done is such a smack in the face to the Gamemakers that it's no wonder they drove Skyler to me. They wanted to punish him, to remind everyone what the Hunger Games are, and they're not what he made it seem. And I, like a good little pawn, obeyed them without knowing it.

'_See? See!' _Garret rages. '_I told you to be quick about it! You fool.'_

I get to watch bits of my swimming lessons with Garret and part of me trying to convince him to get in the water. I smile wistfully, wishing I were back in the arena so I could relive that day with Garret, my ally, my friend.

Silk and Lister creep towards Sawyer and Barlee. The two are talking, laughing, as they share a meal. Even though I know the outcome of this battle, I find myself gripping the arms of the chair tightly. Suddenly Barlee looks around and spots them. He and Sawyer arm pull out their weapons—Sawyer an axe, Barlee a very nice looking short sword—and meet the other allies had on. Sawyer takes on Silk, obviously, and Barlee fights Lister who has a pair of…nun chucks, I think they're called. I never learned how to use those. I don't think he has either, but the farm boy seems to be treating them like a hoe they use in the fields. It works well enough.

The fight is long and bloody. None of them are ready to die. Sawyer's loosing badly and Barlee is busy with Lister. She's lost her axe and she's bleeding heavily from several gashes Silk inflicted with her very nice curved dagger. They give a close up of Sawyer's face and I see how truly desperate she's becoming. Then it happens. What I've been wondering about since I laid eyes on her at the island. She snaps. The tip of the blade rakes across her cheek and blood pours out. Sawyer lets go. With a scream she flings herself at the black-haired girl from District 1 and after a moment her teeth literally tear a few of Silk's fingers off.

_Sweet Poseidon! _ I gasp.

Sawyer abandons Silk (and her fingers) who's going into shock and bounds towards Barlee and Lister. She picks up her axe and hurls it into Lister's back. He hits the ground and she yanks the axe out and stabs him in the back with it again, and again, until he's dead, and for a few seconds after. Barlee watches in horror. Silk starts to scream the moment Lister's cannon fires. They show a brief moment of me waking up, Garret covering my mouth and telling me to listen, then they're showing Sawyer give Silk a similar end to Lister's. My face, surely, must be on screen now, but I can't force my expression into a neutral mask. They see what I'm really feeling.

Sawyer sits on the ground, panting, staring at the bodies with a look of wild delight. "Got em." She announces proudly. "I got them!" Sawyer's still there, I can tell. She's not completely mad, not yet. She's not had the final shove off the edge. But soon. Soon.

'_I wonder what gave _you _the final shove, Dylan.'_ Garret says.

_I'm not crazy. I'm not!_

"Yeah," Barlee says shakily. He's terrified. "C-come on, Sawyer, let's go. We need to let them collect the bodies."

Sawyer frowns, as if she wants to protest, but decides to obey. They pack their stuff, Sawyer's movements are a bit jerky and her eyes dart around the forest every few seconds, lingering on the bodies of her kills. Suddenly she screams and flies at Silk's body with her axe and attacks her until Barlee runs forward to restrain her. He gets his arms around her and makes her drop the axe.

"Sawyer, Sawyer, stop! What's wrong with you?"

"She was moving!" Sawyer screeches. "I saw her pulling out a knife."

"Her knife is over there." He pointed at the object lying a few yards away with his foot. "She's dead, Sawyer. Silk is dead—you heard the cannon. She couldn't have been getting her knife."

Sawyer stops shaking and Barlee lets go of her. He keeps a few paces away from her when they walk back to the bag of supplies, ready to spring should she go off again. He must know by now that she's different, that something happened to her in the fight that her mind couldn't handle.

They show clips of the other tributes musing about who just died, lingering on me and Pisces and our allies. They show flashes from the next few days, interesting parts of conversations, hunting, practicing. They show the tribute pairs as they discovered the plains. It turns out that the arena was a forest wetland, a swamp, then a grassland wetland, and mountains beyond that on both sides. More swimming and talking plus my promise to Garret, him singing me to sleep, and staring at me for a long time once I'm under.

They show Pisces and Fleece walking through the forest, sweltering, then they flick to Garret and I. Garret says he's out of water and it takes every ounce of my self-restraint I have to not run like hell back into the Training Center. I know what's coming and I don't want to see it. I shrink back into my seat and clasp my hands together in my lap. On screen I kneel down by the water and then they're showing Garret.

Fleece hadn't been lying. It was Pisces who'd lied to me that night. It's he who approaches Garret with a sword to kill. I want to close my eyes but they're frozen open. I want for him to scream at him to run even though it won't change his fate, but my voice has vanished so I only mouth the words, "Run, Garret, oh please run!"

Sensing the danger, Garret turns and sees my district partner a moment too late. His sword pierces him in the chest, just missing his heart. His cry chokes off before it even really begins and he coughs up a mouthful of blood. He collapses onto the ground, spitting out more blood.

"Dylan!" he gasps weakly. "Run…run…!"

It's no wonder I didn't hear him over the sounds of the brook.

"Dylan?" Pisces mutters, raising his eyebrows.

"Dyl…an…run…" Garret breathes then he dies and so does something inside of me. The guilt comes back full force. I shouldn't have left him. I should've protected him. I made him stay behind, alone, and he ended up dead. The thought must've occurred to him in his final moments and yet, his last words were to me, to warn me, to protect _me_.

_Garret, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It's my fault you died. Please, forgive me. _I beg.

I slump, all energy gone, and stare numbly at the screen as his cannon fires. The sound reverberates from the speakers and lingers in my ears. On screen my eyes widen as I hear it, then I seize up and start screaming. Pisces runs towards me, stares at me writhing form for a moment as if he's considering something, then he bolts down to me and covers my mouth with his hand.

I stop screaming, croak out Garret's name, l look up at Pisces. He murmurs to me, Fleece screams for my death. I whisper Garret's name again then pass out. Pisces refuses to let Fleece touch me as he removes the weapons from my personnel and has her go get everything from Garret. He spots the cloth that's Garret's token and examines it, then tucks it in his pocket. Fleece carries the supplies and he carries me, earning much protest from his ally, but Pisces won't hear a word of it.

Even when they stop to camp and they make the fire, he doesn't let her close enough to touch me. _I_ know why—he's too noble to let either of us die before his debt is repaid—but I wonder how the audience takes this. What did commentators say when they played the recap of the day's important events?

"Tell me why you won't kill her!" Fleece seethes and slams my bow and quiver to the ground by the fire. "Do you _love_ her or something?"

Pisces firmly denies it, but he doesn't meet her eyes when he says it. "But she's been my friend for as long as I can remember." Not counting the years where I didn't speak to him unless I had to.

"What is wrong with you? Don't you prepare your entire lives for this? Only one of us can win! Kill her and that's one less you have to kill later."

"You know, to win, I'll have to kill you, too." He gives her the first truly hateful look she's probably ever gotten from him.

Fleece's eyes widen a bit and her good hand clenches into a fist. "This is insane, Pisces! What do you think she'll do when she wakes up?"

"She'll probably run. Or fight." He says calmly. He knows me.

"Exactly! We need to kill her now! You should've killed her first thing but no, you had to suddenly develop merciful feelings."

"Look, you wouldn't understand. But I had to let her live." He sighs and then tries a different approach. "Look, once she's gone she'll be on her own. Her partner's dead and she's got no supplies on her. The Gamemakers will probably kill her once they need to liven things up."

Or they'll send her a tribute to execute.

Fleece's face is set in a bitter scowl, but at least she doesn't argue again. "I suppose you'll be giving her the arrows back."

Pisces almost smiles, then says coldly, "No."

They show my face as I crack my eyes open and scan the layout of their camp. The lone tear trickles out of my eye. I spring up and race away, Fleece shouts, I fall, Pisces traps me. We talk for a moment, and Fleece once again requests my death. I ask Pisces why he didn't kill me and he shows me the scars. I see the understanding cross my face and I nod. Pisces returns Garret's token to me. I ask who killed him, Fleece lies, I break free and run.

Fleece wants to chase me. That much is obvious. But Pisces holds her back and tells her to let me go. Fleece huffs. "I hope you know what you're doing."

They show me fleeing through the forest, Garret's face in the sky, and then shots of the other tributes, just as befuddled as I had assumed. They show me vowing to make Fleece pay then the next three days are brushed over with only a few shots of each pair. Then we see everyone's reactions as Claudius ends the alliances.

Pisces and Fleece stare at the sky as Caesar speaks. Before he can finish, Fleece is on her feet with a knife in hand. Pisces sees her and realizes she isn't going to give him the chance to turn on her. She flings it at him and he ducks, grabbing his sword, and stabs her in the gut. She collapses then her cannon breaks the silence.

Skyler and Annalee look at each other mournfully. Annalee softly suggests they could just stay together, but Skyler shakes his head. "I don't want to fight you. Chances are one of us will get knocked off before we meet again." But they don't show what happens after that. Whatever it was, it must've been very…rebellious.

Lastly they show Barlee and Sawyer. He suddenly looks very nervous and she looks scared. "You're going to leave me, aren't you?" Sawyer says with a wild panic in her voice. "You can't leave!"

He hesitates, as if unsure what to say, and then he shakes his head. "I'm not." He says. "I'm going to stay right here." He gives her such a warm and friendly smile that she believes him wholeheartedly and smiles right back. I have to give Barlee credit. He knows she's a bit loopy and he's doing well at managing her. They eat a bit of their food and watch the sky. Fleece's picture appears and there's a shot of me damning Pisces for the wrong reasons, then they're right back on Barlee and Sawyer.

"Get some sleep." It's definitely later at night now. Sawyer looks tired but her eyes dart around the forest warily. "Look, it'll be alright." Barlee says. "The others are on their own now. If anyone comes along we can take them easily! …You should get some sleep. You look ready to keel over. I'll stand watch."

Sawyer's green eyes flick to him and she smiles. Barlee unrolls the sleeping bag and she crawls in gratefully. "You're a good friend." She whispers. "Wake me up if there's trouble." He waits until her breathing is slow and even, barely audible, then he slips the pack full of supplies onto his shoulders and slinks away into the night. _Nicely done, _I think bitterly.

The next few shots are how Annalee, Pisces, Skyler, and I are fairing alone. They show me requesting something to kill. The next morning Sawyer wakes to find herself alone.

"Barlee?" she calls, drowsily. When she gets no reply, she leaps into a crouch instantly. "Barlee?" she calls again, louder. She grabs her axe and straightens up. "Barlee?" She spots his tracks leading away from camp. Abandoning what little supplies he left her, Sawyer runs after him, calling his name. With each passing minute, I can see her growing more and more desperate. She doesn't seem to realize when she veers off the path he left and continues stumbling blindly through the trees, still calling for him. Finally she stumbles to a stop and collapses, worn out, terrified, and alone. She calls out for Barlee one more time then crawls into a small gap between two trees, trembling, whimpering. Alone. Then they show Barlee trekking on. A little tired, but otherwise fine. So unlike his former ally.

The next thing they show is Skyler getting chased through the forest by a small herd of monstrous black and white creatures. Wait are those…cows? Well, they can't be _real _cows, but muttations that look like cows, for sure! How ironic for a boy who herded cattle to the stockyards to be herded _by _cattle to his death? I'll bet the audience had a good laugh about that one. I myself am trying not to giggle because I know what comes next and it's not something to laugh about.

It looks even more hideous from here, Skyler's death. I struggle to keep up the emotionless mask up. I see what Iris meant. I look terrifying standing above the tiny, wounded boy with the gleaming trident in my hand and a determined look on my dirt-stained face. Though, I suppose that's good. They replay the final stabbing from several different angles. I exhale in relief when his battered body is carried away into the hovercraft. The next shots are of everyone looking up at his picture and Annalee, though she struggles not to, eventually cries.

Thank Poseidon we're nearing the end of the Games. I don't know how much more I can take.

'_I forgive you, Dylan.'_ Garret breaks the mental silence. '_I would have died anyway.'_

They move through two days with brief shots of Pisces, me, and a now rather unstable Sawyer. My district partner is doing about as well as I was at the time and Sawyer, well, she has no trouble killing animals to get her food, but it's clear some sponsors still favor her because they send her tiny gifts every now and then. They only show Annalee once and she's crying. She must've grown attached to Skyler. I don't blame her. When your life depends on someone in a place like this it's hard not to bond with that person

That's how Pisces finds her. She looks up at him with a pitiful expression then looks back down. There's a spear within reach but she makes no move to grab it. Pisces, never one for sheer brutality, actually knees down a few feet from her. "Rough day?" he asks.

Annalee nods. "Skyler was my ally…I miss him."

"The boy who died two days ago?"

"Yeah, him," she pulls her knees up to her chest, and holds them there in place.

Pisces nods. "Well, I didn't kill him."

Annalee shrugs like it matters little to her then half-scoots, half-crawls over to him then kneels in front of him. "Do it. I want this to be over. I'm tired. Just…just do it fast? I don't want my grandma to see me suffer."

Pisces' face is emotionless; he gives no sign that he heard her whispered request, until he reaches over and gets his arms around her neck. She closes her eyes. He flexes and her neck snaps. Her cannon fires, I look up from my hunting, Sawyer jumps, screams, and scurries into some foliage, Barlee exhales slowly. Annalee gets lifted into the hovercraft. The next shots are her picture in the sky and everyone's reactions.

Pisces is walking with no visible destination. They're showing his face up close and, for the first time, I see what the arena has done to him. His cheekbones are more prominent, his eyes are tired, and he's lost quite a bit of weight. His face is filthy, his usually nice hair dirty and limp. A branch snaps. Pisces head snaps around then looks up and his eyes widen. Sawyer crashes down on him, shrieking a snarl. She's smaller than he is, malnourished, but she's so far gone that she doesn't have a conscious eating at her. It's awful to watch. Pisces gets a couple good blows in, including one of the ugly gashes I'd noticed on Sawyer's face, before he's disarmed and she's hacking away at him with her axe.

I'm glad they wouldn't let me eat seconds or else I'd be throwing it all up right now. Sawyer wasn't lying and Finnick couldn't have properly explained this to me.

Missing part of his arm, he tries to staunch the blood flow as he runs from the mad girl. She follows relentlessly. He eventually gets caught in a snare set some time ago and she hits him with her weapon like one of those punching bags in the gym back home. I want to close my eyes and cover my ears, but I can't tear my gaze away as my friend massacres my other friend.

_My friends…. _I gasp. That's it. That's the connection I was trying to figure out earlier. Why they seemed to favor Pisces, Sawyer, Garret, and me. They were my group of friends here…and they were all murdered by each other. Pisces killed Garret, Sawyer killed Pisces, and I killed Sawyer. That must be the angle they're going for this year: destroyed friendships. We can make friends if we want, but in the end, the Capitol can control even that.

I clench my fists as Pisces' cannon fires. It takes Sawyer a minute to realize he's dead. She backs away panting, her front stained with his blood, then she just leaves him strung there. I don't know how they got him down because the next shot is of his destroyed body being lifted away. They're showing the fish slip from my fingers as I stare up at Pisces face in the sky. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was shaking my head. They show me lying in my sleeping bag, me pretending to cry, then murmuring for Finnick to hear. They omit the part about me carving his name into the fish.

"Goodnight, Pisces."

The next shot is of the following day and Sawyer is stumbling along when she spots _Barlee _in the distance. I half expect her to attack him or something, but instead her face lights up and she runs toward him. When he hears her coming he arms himself for battle, then his face pales as he realizes who it is.

"Barlee!" she screams in delight and actually throws her arms around him. "You're alright! I've been so worried! Where did you go?"

He steps away from her and looks her up and down. Hair matted, tangled, and stringy, her face hollow, her body covered in dirt and blood, she looks like hell. "God, Sawyer, what happened to you?" He asks, but he doesn't put away his weapon. She doesn't seem to care. In her mind, at least, he's probably still her friend.

She tilts her head. "What do you mean?"

"You're covered in—oh my god. _You_ killed the boy from District 4, didn't you?"

Sawyer nods and the savage grin appears on her face. Barlee takes another step away from her. "That's um…that's great. Good job."

"Got food?" she asks. "I'm hungry."

"No, all out. Sorry." He's lying; I can hear it in his voice.

"Well, let's go get some!" she says eagerly. "Come on!"

Barlee reluctantly agrees and keeps just out of her reach as they walk along. He's just waiting for a chance to ditch her or kill her—I can see it in his face. Fear that she'll fight back is probably the only thing keeping him in check. Suddenly animals start screeching in alarm. They run, the two tributes look at what they're running from, then they both start to flee. As they're crossing the river, a few of the rat mutts break off from the main group and lumber downstream—towards me, no doubt. That makes me wonder how close the three of us were.

For the next few minutes they alternate between shots of me fleeing the rat mutts, Barlee and Sawyer fleeing, and close-ups of the rat mutts themselves that make me shrink back in my seat. Suddenly, Barlee lashes out at Sawyer and the girl stumbles away and falls, staring in shock. Barlee doesn't even look back as he keeps running. Sawyer looks up at the mutts looming over her and her eyes widen in horror.

The one that seems to be the leader looks down at her for a moment, makes a clucking noise to the others and points one clawed finger at the fleeing male tribute. They leave Sawyer and give chase, catching Barlee easily. He screams as they overtake him and for a moment his eyes meet Sawyer's and he calls for help. She stands up, her expression blank and her eyes hard. She watches him get attacked ruthlessly for a moment, then she turns and runs in the other direction.

They show the rat mutts digging down to me. Their horrible screeching has me digging my fingers into the arm of the throne. The urge to run is stronger than ever. Barlee's on screen again, looking bloody and horrible; a mutt delivers the final blow, his cannon fires. Sawyer grins in delight. "Bye-bye, Barlee," She murmurs with glee then hums that over and over.

Barlee's final treachery gave her the last push over the edge into absolute insanity. Poor Sawyer, betrayed by the one she trusted most.

The rat mutts leave me, I climb out of my burrow, strip myself of weapons, asses the damage to my leg, go to soak it in the river, salvage what supplies I can. There are a few more shots of me working with my wounds, I get my gift, Sawyer is shown walking along. They show Barlee's face in the sky, the understanding and sadness creeping onto my face as I realize what it means, Sawyer's triumphant snarl.

"Bye-bye, Barlee!" she hisses again.

They linger over the next day for only about five minutes. They don't show me talking for everyone back home, but they do play a few of my failed attempts at befriending mockingjays. Sawyer must realize I'm the last one alive when she suddenly gasps out, "Dylan!" Then they show just before dawn as the water begins to overflow from the banks. It takes Sawyer a lot longer than me to figure out they want us to go to the island.

They show me crouch in the tree, skipping over my words, then they go right to me standing on the island and Sawyer showing up. And now I understand why Sawyer looked at me the way she did on the island. She remembered me and she knew she was about to go against her only other friend in these Games. They show every detail of our final fight from several angles, even our brief exchange of words. Her body is taken away and the trumpets begin to blare. I look half-crazed, only slightly saner than Sawyer, as I look around for the source of the screaming. The last shot is of me being lifted into the hovercraft. The door closes and the screen goes black for a moment, then the seal of Panem appears.

The lights come back on as the audience cheers wildly. I feel sick.

'_You did it,' _Garret soothes. '_It's over now.'_

I want to get up and leave _right now_ and just go to bed. But that doesn't happen. A short man with snow-white hair and snakelike eyes comes onto the stage and I, like everyone else, automatically rise to my feet. President Snow is a figure every citizen in Panem knows. Our children are taught to fear him in their early years. My blood goes cold at the sight of him.

A small girl in a light blue dress hurries across stage carrying a gold crown on a plump red cushion. President Snow lifts the crown up and the audience screams their approval, then he places it on my head. In that moment his eyes meet mine and he gives me a dark smile. I shouldn't, but I narrow my eyes at him just a bit. He has to notice but he doesn't react as he leans away from me and smiles broadly just for the cameras.

I spend the next long hours getting my picture taken with everyone and their brother. People shake my hand, give me hugs, and pat me on the shoulder. None of them seem to realize, or care, that unfamiliar contact is threatening to the part of my brain that has not yet, and probably never will leave the arena. I get introduced to my most generous sponsors, prestigious Capitol folk. Marrian introduces me to a woman with gold hair named Robara who single-handedly paid for those little white pills that helped my leg near the beginning of the Games. The hug I give her is genuine and I think she can tell because she pats the top of my head gently.

"Why?" I ask.

Robara smiles, "Finnick was—" Ah, should've guessed he had something to do with this "—telling me about you and he mentioned your leg got seriously hurt once. When you were telling your ally why your leg was acting up I put two and two together and decided to help you out."

_Probably hoping I'd put in a good word to Finnick about you_, I think.

"Well thank you." I say. "I wouldn't be here here without that medicine."

Robara smiles again and then I'm thrust back into the endless greetings from the ever more intoxicated people of the Capitol. It's about dawn when I finally am rescued from the masses by my mentors, who remind everyone surrounding me that I have an interview at two and I need sleep so I can stay awake long enough to talk to Caesar.

I collapse into the familiar bed, comforted by the soft fabric of my blankets and nightclothes, and succumb to sleep.

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**I wrote it and I still go :( during Garret's death.**

**Review/fav/tell peoples...**


	17. Pain

**This chap's comin a bit early. Why? Cuz I'm in a good mood :D**

**For anyone who cares, I'm on Panem October under the same username as here. District 4 :D BOOYA. Feel free to send me a friend request - mention you're one of my readers, if you'd like. I'm also on thecapiton pn. :) I'm District 7 there and, apparently, a Lumberjack. That means I'm good w/ axes... :3**

**Anyway, I present chapter 17: In which Dylan is a brat, gets a serious friggin wake up call, and maybe _just maybe_ regains the favor of those of you who hate her about the whole Skyler deal...**

**Oh here's a quick random fact: One of my friends at school is named Skyler. It's spelled the same way. However, they are nothing alike and I created and named Skyler Stefin before I met the Skyler at school.**

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They have to literally drag me out of bed the next morning. Iris grabs one arm, Cevin grabs the other, and Lynnea and Simona take my legs and haul me out. For people who've never done an honest day of real work in their sheltered lives, they're remarkably strong. I wonder if the Capitol has something to make you stronger without any physical affects. I know they can buff up your muscles, otherwise there is no explanation for the seriously burly guy who kept coming back to shake my hand last night…

Part of me knows I should struggle against their hold, part of me is too tired to care, and part of me wants to give them a hard time since they've already begun to abuse the privileges being the victor's stylists has given them. They earned their moment in the spotlight for making me pretty, but from what I witnessed last night, you'd think they were right there in the arena with me, telling me which weapons would be best to kill Skyler with.

When they try to set me on my feet, I let my legs go limp and crumple to the ground. They protest, I ignore them and pretend to sleep. Finally one of them leaves and when they get back, Beril is with them. Aw, crabs.

Beril yanks me up off the ground by my arm mercilessly and glares at me. "You can be a big baby when you get home! Right now you need to get ready for your interview which happens in," she checks her watch, "exactly seventy-two minutes. So, unless you want to be broadcasted to the entire country wearing nothing but your undergarments, wake up and start cooperating."

I swallow. "Yes ma'am."

Beril lets go of my arm and I land on my butt.

"Thank you," Simona smiles at Beril.

"It's not a problem." Beril says. "She's only acting like that because she thinks she can get away with it."

I fold my arms and shoot Lynnea a dirty look when she giggles.

"If she doesn't cooperate, tell me and I'm sure Alaina and I can come to some sort of agreement as far as her interview outfit is concerned." She grins deviously at me.

I stick my tongue out at her. She laughs and then leaves, abandoning me to my prep team.

"You guys don't play fair," I gripe.

They just laugh their high-pitched laughs that I hate and haul me to the dining room for a quick meal then I'm in my bathroom to take a quick shower. Iris emphasized the _quick_ part. Lucky for me, a quick shower for her means about ten minutes, which makes me wonder how much time she normally spends in the shower every day. These people have far too much time on their hands.

They tell me my time is up and then I'm back in my room. They go over my body with small razors and tweezers, ridding me of the tips of hairs that sprouted overnight. Then Alaina shows up with a dress made of soft blue and soft green silk.

"Dylan was a brat earlier." Iris tattles. "She wouldn't get out of bed and we had to lift her out. My back is going to be sore for days, now!"

And suddenly, I hate her, this Capitol woman.

"Oh you poor thing, you hurt your back. Don't worry, once you're done you can just go get some medicine and it'll fix you right up." I say through my teeth.

"That's actually a good—"

"But what about my fellow tributes? They can't go get some medicine and get better, can they?" I ask and Iris falls silent. "They're dead. It wasn't some cartoon. The twenty-three kids getting ready to be shipped home in wooden boxes were real people. The blood you saw was real. The cannons meant their hearts stopped." I walk towards Iris, my trembling hands balled into fists. Her too bright forget-me-not blue eyes are wide and she looks scared, but the other four people in the room aren't helping her.

"Ellery was only twelve years old, her little sister watched her get murdered. Rinn Asher tried to commit suicide before the Games began and I stopped her, then I killed her in the arena. Leona was in love. Garret was my best friend. Skyler went in to save his blind brother. They had families, friends, lives, futures, hopes, dreams, emotions—they had _souls!_ Sterra and Barlee were kin. What if it was _you_ in there with Cevin and a bunch of your friends? Wouldn't be so amusing then, would it? Sawyer was my _friend_ and I had to put her down like the mad _dog_ your Games turned her into!"

Iris looks ready to die of fright. I round on the others. They're looking at me warily, except for Alaina who looks oddly calm. I look at Iris again.

"Or were we just nothing _but_ dogs to you?" I ask, my voice now deadly quiet. "Nothing but mongrels tossed in a ring to fight for the last scrap of meat? Huh? Were we?"

Iris swallows and she quivers. Her fake-color eyes begin to water.

"ANSWER ME!" I scream.

The sudden noise makes her jump and the tears begin to leak out. "I—I…I…"

"_I, I, I_!" I sneer. "That's all you think about! You think I'm acting like a brat? Have you ever looked at yourself? You _disgust_ me. I hope you die with a knife in your heart like Garret did, you worthless, arrogant—" I trail off, unable to come up with a word horrible enough for her.

She's crying, her eye makeup running.

"ANSWER ME!" I scream again. "Were we nothing but dogs?"

"No," she chokes out.

"Then tell me why you cheer every year." I hiss. "Tell me why you pretty me up like the chefs that fix our dinner."

"Because—"

"Because if I win you get your own fame! You get to go to the parties, get interviewed, and brag how you made the victor what she is! Isn't that right? While the tribute's families cry for their lost sons and daughters, you're partying like there's no tomorrow!

"Do you think Haymitch Abernathy and Chaff Sando became drunkards just because they thought it was cool? Do you think Izibella Wiska and Royce Yellowwood got addicted to morphling because they decided it was the next trend? _No_! They did it because they couldn't face what they'd done anymore! They felt like monsters, but you know what? They aren't. The other victors aren't. I'm not. _You _are!" I point directly at her then sneer, "You and your poor, poor aching back. Now run along, get medicine for it!"

Iris reaches up to wipe her eyes then turns and runs out of the room, not even closing the door behind her. Then I whirl around to face the other three members of my prep team.

"Anyone else want to complain about how I act?" I snap.

They glance at each other then one by one shake their heads.

"I know how you feel, Dylan," Alaina says softly.

"Oh do you?" I seethe.

"I was the stylist for Izibella the year before I got transferred to District 4. She screamed at her prep team too. Cevin, go find your sister and try to calm her down."

Cevin gives me another worried look then took off after his sister and closed the door behind him.

"Now, Dylan, we need to get you dressed." Alaina says. "I know you don't want to do this, but you have to."

"I know," I sigh.

They slide the blue and green dress on me, a gold band is slipped onto my bicep, and a dozen thin silver bracelets dangle from my wrists, making a sweet jingle noise every time I move. They use something similar to a curling iron to make my hair fall in waves around my shoulders then she pulls it back with a green headband to match my dress. They slip thin skin colored slippers onto my feet.

"Now, let me look at you."

Alaina stands back, admiring her work. She tilts her head to see every angle and circles me a few times. "Beautiful," she finally declares and Simona and Lynnea agree.

She guides me over to the mirror and I take a look at myself. The color combination is pretty on me. The dress itself is very simple in design. It hugs my top, emphasizing my new curves, then flares out just a bit around my waist and falls to my knees.

"I look pretty." I say. "You couldn't tell by looking at me that I'm a killer."

"That's the idea." My stylist chuckles and pats me on the shoulder. "Come on, you. You're on in five minutes."

In the sitting room, they've pulled over a comfortable chair for me to sit in next to the one occupied by the one and only, Caesar Flickerman. Cameras and their crews wait for the exact second when they'll start. My mentors wait nearby. I can tell from their expressions that they heard my outburst, or at least about it.

Caesar stands up to greet me. "Hello, Dylan."

"Hi, Caesar." I smile.

"Can I give you a hug? I'm sure you must be sick of them after last night."

"Well, you noticed what the screaming was doing to me last night." I remind him. "And you shut them up for me, so yes. You get a hug."

He laughs and hugs me quickly. "You were shaking like a maraca; I didn't want you getting sick or anything. Now don't worry." He says. "Just respond as best as you can to what I ask you. If you really don't want to answer something, or you just can't, you can tell me and we'll skip it."

"Thank you," I give him the brightest smile I can, but on the inside I feel sick. I don't want to tell him anything. Caesar's a nice guy, but he's one of them. And as for the rest of Panem…

Someone gives us a one-minute warning and we take our seats. Alaina rushes forward to adjust my hair then hurries off the set.

'_Then talk to me.' _Garret says. '_Can you do that? When he asks you something, pretend you're only talking to me.'_

"Ok," I murmur.

Caesar gives me a thumbs up as someone counts down the last seconds. We're live.

Caesar starts by welcoming everyone to the victor interviews then introduces me. I smile at him then at the cameras.

"So, Dylan, how does it feel to have won the Hunger Games?"

'_Tell me,' _Garret murmurs.

"Overwhelming," I say.

"Really? What do you mean?"

"Well, first off that I'm alive! I was very confident that I could win, but there's always that fear that something will get you. The more time went on, the feeling faded a bit, but it was always there. And now I'm out here again and there's just so much! Everyone wants to shake my hand or take my picture…and soon I'll be going home."

"Are you excited to go back to District 4?"

"The Capitol is great," I say. It's not exactly a lie. "The food is delicious and the gadgets are cool, but District 4 is my home. I belong there, around the sand and salt water, not colorful sidewalks and skyscrapers."

"Very well said," he says approvingly. "Now, we took a poll the day you won the Games and there are some questions about things that people want your answers to."

"Oh?" I sit up and tilt my head. "Like what?"

He pulls a few cards out of his pocket and reads the first question: "What is your family like?"

I arch my eyebrows. "They want to know about my family?"

"It appears so."

"Hmm, well, I know I talked about them in the arena. There's my mother and father, my two brothers and my little sister. My older sister is deceased."

"She was in the Hunger Games herself, correct?"

"Yes, a few years ago."

"Do you get along with your family?"

I laugh. "These are weird questions."

"Well, the people want to know."

"Does anyone really get along with their brothers and sisters?" I ask.

Caesar laughs. "No, I guess not. Alright, next question: what's your favorite color?"

"Blue," I say automatically. "Like my eyes."

Caesar leans forward. "Yes, they are quite pretty. I can see why you prefer that shade. Alright, what do you plan to do now that you don't have to work anymore?"

I shrug. "I might go back to the boats sometimes. I like my work. It's tough, but the rewards are worth it. I love being able to bring home some salmon for Lana. It's her favorite. The crew is like my extended family. We talk and joke on the decks, help each other and work together to get our haul back to shore. Even if I don't go back out with them all the time, I'll still help make the nets. I'm a great net maker."

"Well, you will never be bored, I hope." Caesar says. "Alright, one last question then we'll move on to the Games. What was it like growing up around Finnick?"

I shoot a glare at said victor who stands just behind the cameras.

"He was like other little boys." I say after a moment. "Thought he was a hotshot, liked to tease the girls, and was fun to pick on. Remember what I said about him chasing us with fish guts one time? Well, my friend Lily and I didn't take that for long. She wrestled him to the ground and I shoved the fish guts right down his pants and boots. You should've seen him hopping around, trying to get them out."

Caesar laughs and it's Finnick's turn to glare.

He goes on to ask me about stuff that happened before the arena. More details about my costumes, my mentors, what I thought of certain things. Then the same questions about events in the arena. What did I think about Rinn's trick? What was I thinking when I saw the lizard mutation rising from the water? What was going through my head when Claudius threw up a white flag and told us to congregate?

And I'm not talking to Caesar anymore. He doesn't deserve to know what I was feeling.

"I was shocked," I say. "That's never happened. At least, not that I've heard of."

"It hasn't," Caesar confirms and I resist the urge to send him an annoyed look for interrupting me. "We were all quite baffled."

"I hope there wasn't too much commotion," I say with false sweetness. I don't give a rat's ass if what was happening in the arena upset the peace in the Capitol.

Caesar chuckles, "Nothing we couldn't handle.' He pauses and then changes tack. "I noticed that you knew to follow the current to the island. Most of the other tributes didn't at first. How did you know?"

I pause, trying to decide how to explain to Garret. I told him a bit about currents, but I feel like I'll need to elaborate more. "Back in District 4, there's a current we call Fisherman's Fate. It starts near the border of our district and travels along the length of it before heading out to sea. It's far enough out that swimmers won't get caught unless they go beyond the safe zone, so the only ones likely to get caught are the folk on the boats."

"What does that have to do with the current in the arena?"

"Currents always lead somewhere. Fisherman's Fate leads to this small pass called Fate's Door. You either grab onto the rocks in there or you get pulled out to sea. Fate's Door is both a place of salvation and a place of doom. It's your last chance. …I figured that if the Gamemakers wanted all of us to go to the island, they would give us some sort of clue as it it's location since most of the tributes had no idea where to go. And, unlike Fisherman's Fate, the current in the arena was very gentle. It was almost friendly. The Fate is harsh and unrelenting and you have to fight just to make it to Fate's Door. I knew I could trust the current."

"I think I see your logic," Caesar says thoughtfully. "I suppose I'd have to see it all myself to make such connections. What was going through your head when you picked up the plate that said '8?'" he asks, getting back on track.

I look down in shame. _Sorry, Garret, but I can't lie about this._ "I was furious. District 8 isn't exactly known for their survival skills. I thought he was an idiot. I wanted to grab a different plate, but by the time I thought about doing it, the others already had their plates, so I decided to make the best of who I had to work with."

"And afterwards?" he prompts.

"Afterwards…I began to like him. He was a good guy. There were some days I forgot we were in the Hunger Games. It was just so easy to forget and enjoy the time. I know most people can't comprehend it, but he made my time in the arena halfway bearable. There were times when I wished he'd been born in District 4. Garret was probably the best friend I've ever had and…" I trail off and feel a lump rising in my throat. I won't cry. I refuse to cry.

'_It's alright,' _Garret soothes. '_I'm here. I'm still listening.'_

Caesar Flickerman can tell I'm on the verge of tears. He smiles gently and pats my leg, but he doesn't offer me words of empathy. He knows he can't relate any losses with my loss right now. He has learned during these years of talking to victors and tributes.

"You guys saw all the others, especially Sawyer. She became so emotionally and mentally dependant on Barlee that she went off the deep end when he turned his back on her. We all became close to our allies—well, except for Jules, but he was an ass so he doesn't count."

Caesar chuckles.

"No one can blame me for considering Garret my best friend. We relied on each other for everything. He trusted me to guard him while he was sleeping, and I him. He was a great fighter." I say, sitting up straighter. "He saved my life while I was fighting Jules. My stupid leg gave out and if he hadn't acted right then and there, we'd have both died. He was considerate enough to clean up the wound he inflicted on me while were practicing. Then he sang me to sleep that one night. It was odd, but sweet at the same time. I guess I was stupid…but I almost thought that maybe, we'd both win."

'_I wanted us both to win, too.'_ He says.

"And then he died," Caesar murmurs.

I shake my head. "No, then he was killed by one of my only other friends here." I say angrily.

"What were you thinking when you heard his cannon?" He asks.

"I was…horrified. I can't explain it, but I just _knew_ it was him. Then, of course, the pain began. And before you ask, yes it hurt. It really hurt. Next thing I know, Pisces is standing over me and the one-armed girl is screaming…and all I could think about was the fact that Garret was dead. I was shocked when I woke up and realized I was alive."

"Why did he let you live?" Caesar asks and I can almost hear the entire country hold its breath, everyone leaning towards their screens, waiting to finally understand.

"Fisherman's Fate," I say.

I imagine that some people in District 4 understand what I mean. They remember hearing about the little girl diving in after the two boys who got caught in Fate's clutches. One saved, one lost forever. Everyone else, however, is undoubtedly confused.

"I've been in it," I go on. "I thought all the talk about its terror was just old sailor stories, but it's as horrible as they say. It tries to drag you down and yank you out to sea. Pisces and another kid, I'm pretty sure his name was Frilo, got caught in it one day while a bunch of us were playing. They were stupid, they swam too far out. The others ran for help, but me and this other kid ran down to the rocks at Fate's Door. I went in after the boys. I couldn't find Frilo, but I got Pisces and I held onto the rocks for dear life and they finally came to rescue us. He never forgot that I'm the one that held onto his unconscious body while Fate tried to pull him away."

"So that's why," Caesar says, realization dawning on his face. "He owed you his life."

"By sparing me, we were finally even." I smile. "After that one of us could die and, either way, he'd be at ease." I think back to the reaping for a moment. The sullen look on his face as we headed to the Justice Building…he must've been thinking about that debt, knowing he couldn't win without saving my life.

Caesar goes on, asking me questions about other events in the arena, and other tributes in particular. He talks about all my injuries in the arena, from me scraping my elbow on a tree to the rats clawing away at me in my tiny cave.

"I knew plants that could draw out poison," I say furiously. I'm still regretting not paying more attention during the plants lesson in the Capitol. "But not any that grew in the terrain around me!"

"I imagine that must've been annoying."

"_Very_," I growl. "I'm lucky my sponsors were still being generous."

"We're almost out of time, Dylan." Caesar says, checking a fancy watch on his wrist. Oh thank Poseidon. "So only a few more questions then we'll wrap this up. The rumor is that you were the one who brought Sawyer into the alliance at the beginning."

Crabs. I was hoping he wouldn't ask this stuff. "Yes," I say slowly. "She was a whiz with plants and axes."

"She was your friend." It isn't a question. Why bother lying? I nod. "So what was it like at the end for you?"

"I was sad, at first. I really hoped it was Barlee that I'd face. I would have no trouble killing him." I say grimly. "But of course, then I realized Sawyer had gone insane. I knew she wouldn't have any trouble killing me so I pushed all reserves out of my mind and focused on staying alive. She knew my style, she knew she had to get my weapons away from me, and I didn't realize it until too late. She nearly had me. You know, I almost left my skillet behind with my bag of stuff. Glad I didn't."

"Yes, it was quite a tense time." Caesar agrees. "We weren't sure who'd win. I thought she had you there at the end."

"But then I remembered the knife in my boot." I say with a smile.

"Well, our time here is up. Thank you so much, Dylan. Will we be seeing you next year?"

I hesitate. Part of me never wants to return, never _ever_, but then I remember Annie. I'll be here for Annie. I nod. "Yes, I'll be back next year. You know, to keep Finnick out of trouble and stuff."

"Well, I look forward to seeing you during the Victory Tour and again at the 70th Hunger Games." He says then faces the camera. "Thank you all for joining us. I'm Caesar Flickerman, and this is Dylan Syle, victor of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games. Have a great day!"

We hold our positions, smiling at the cameras for just a moment longer then a cameraman announces we're off air and I relax.

"Thank Poseidon it's over." I groan.

"What? You don't enjoy talking to me?" Caesar asks, feigning a look of hurt.

I smile. "You're alright. It's the cameras drinking up every word that I hate."

"Ah, well, you'll get used to it."

"I'm used to it, Caesar, trust me. The arena made sure of that," I say darkly. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"True, true." He stands up. "Well, thank you for being here. It was a pleasure to meet you."

I stand and give him a hug. "Thank you, Caesar."

"Safe travels!" he calls as Marrian guides me from the room.

I go to my room and collect my necklace that has been returned, along with the three wooden carvings I made. The only thing missing is Garret's token, but that wasn't mine to keep. I notice a simple object resting on my bed. I move closer to examine it and realize it's a wooden flute. I wrack my brain, trying to figure out what's so familiar about it.

"A little girl requested we give that to you." Mags' voice makes me jump.

The old victor hobbles into the room. "She stood outside the Training Center, begging and pleading, until the guards called us down. She said it was for you."

Oh! The little girl who ran beside our train on the way to the station, who waved at me in the Opening Ceremonies—she had that flute in her hand at the time. I guess it really was meant for me. I pick it up and examine it carefully.

"It's time to go," Mags says, touching my arm. "We'll be home tomorrow morning. You can change on the train."

"Alright." I take one last look around the room and suddenly I have this crazy urge to go see the room Garret stayed in. Was it just as nice as mine? I want to ask Mags if I can go, but I hold my tongue.

We ride in a car with blackened windows to the train station. That's where I say goodbye to my prep team. I'm responsible for looking decent when I exit the train at home. Iris is absent, but the others are there, including Cevin even though I was so horrible to his sister. I hug Alaina tightly and she promises to have a lovely wardrobe prepared for my Victory Tour.

"I want a blue dress for District 8," I say in her ear. "Sky blue, it was Garret's favorite color. Please, Alaina?"

Alaina smiles and pats my cheek. "Of course, Dylan."

Then I'm whisked into the train and we're speeding away. I don't speak or move from my position by the door until the darkness of the tunnel has faded and we're moving towards home. Tina and the other mentors disperse, but Marrian waits in the room with me.

"Why didn't you tell us?" I ask quietly. It's been eating at me for several hours now. I'm almost scared of the answer, but I have to know.

"Tell you what?"

I turn around and glare at her. "Why didn't you warn us? Why didn't any of you warn us?"

"About _what_?"

"That!" I gesture in the direction of the Capitol. "Why don't you warn the children who train that it's like that? That even if you survive, it eats away at your soul until you wish you'd died along with the others? Why didn't you prepare me for the emotional part? Why didn't you tell us it's a living nightmare?"

Marrian lowers her head and she's quiet for a long time. I want to scream at her like I screamed at Iris, but I hold my tongue, because this is Marrian and she is not a woman raised in the ways of the Capitol. She is a District 4 woman, and she is a victor, and, beyond that, my mentor, almost my mother.

"You're not the first one to ask. I asked Mags the same question when I won years ago. Victors from other districts ask us if we tell our tributes what the arena means. Believe me Dylan, I've wanted to warn you and every other kid in there." She gives me an ashamed look. "There were times when I wanted to slap sense into all of you. But would you have believed me? Think like your sixteen-year-old self for a minute, Dylan. Try to think how you thought before the Finals. You thought you could take on an army of Peacekeepers alone. All of you did. If I told you the arena would beat you down even as you stood with the victory crown on your head, would you have honestly listened?"

I say nothing.

"You might've listened, yes, but you would've thought that it wouldn't be like that for you. That you could handle it, that you're tougher than I was."

My silence only confirms what she knows and she smiles in grim triumph for a moment.

"Two kids go every year to be tributes. That's the way it is. Our children are taught to view that as: two kids _get _to go. In the other districts, they see as: two kids _must_ go. If we were to really tell all of our kids what it's like, we would lose so many, and then we would be like the others, where two kids _have _to go. We give ours a better chance because we hide from them the truth and we ready their bodies for the strife's. Remember that when you have a group of eleven-year-olds looking up at you like you're a goddess and you want to tell them that they've got everything all wrong and they should just run. As long as someone is willing to go, they spare someone who doesn't."

"We really are just pawns. And you play with us just like the Gamemakers do." I accuse.

"Don't sound so superior, Dylan." Marrian says sharply. "You'll do it, too. You'll lie to those little kids just as we lied to you. Especially while your little siblings are on the chopping block—as long as they're not forced to go, you'll willingly send another kid to the stockyards."

I flinch. She's right again. If it's between Lana, who hasn't even had a Preliminary, and Annie, who has trained years and years, I'd send Annie Cresta.

"The Games aren't over, Dylan." Marrian said. "Not for you. They'll never leave you, not until you die. Just remember, you wanted this."

She leaves then and I stand there, trembling until I can't stand it anymore, and I run in the opposite direction of the other victors, blindly darting down corridors and through doors until there's nowhere left to run and I'm huddled on the floor in a cold room. I cry, letting the makeup stain my arms and the fabric of my beautiful dress.

"Garret," I sob out. "How could they do this? How can they do this?"

'_I don't know, Dylan. I really don't.'_

"They lied to me. All these years. They _lied._"

'_So I heard. But, really, what can you do? It's over and done with. Nothing you say will change anything.'_

"You're no help!"

'_How will lying to you help? It's the truth, Dylan. You can't escape it.'_

"Leave me alone!" I scream and collapse into tears again.

Sometime later, I look around the room I've been crying in. It's practically empty, except for a small platform in the middle of the room. Inside of it sits a person-sized box made of wood—

I shriek a gasp and scramble towards the door. My hand is on the switch to open it when I stop. I take a few shuddering breaths and then look back. Somehow, my body is able to produce more tears and they go trickling down my cheeks. I move away from the door and move towards the coffin. I unhook the clasps and open the lid before I can talk myself out of it.

There he is. My old friend. The murderer of my ally. Stiff, cold, lifeless, dressed in a loose white shirt and pants. They've removed every trace of harm from his body. I can't even tell that Sawyer hacked him up like a dead fish. His cold white skin is without a flaw, his hair is lightly tousled, gleaming in the dim light. He looks so helpless now that he is dead, so much like a little child without his eyes to make him appear more mature, but I still see _him_ in the dead boy in front of me.

"Oh, Pisces," I whisper. "We fell into a trap, you and me." I swallow past the lump in my throat. "You did exactly what the Gamemakers wanted, you son of an urchin. You should've just told Fleece to kill Garret. I'm sorry, Pisces, I'm sorry. I should've let you die that day in the water."

I reach up and wipe the remaining gloss from my lips then kneel down and press a kiss to his icy forehead then rest my forehead there. I stay like that for a long time, then I hear the door open behind me. I don't move as a soft sigh reaches my ears.

"I knew you'd be here."

I tighten my grip on the edge of the casket as he slowly walks towards me. "Let go." Finnick says quietly. When I don't move, he gently, but forcefully, pulls me away from our friend's body. Tucking me under one arm, he uses the other to carefully close and lock Pisces' coffin again.

"Come on," he says gently. "You're freezing cold."

I start to cry again and instead of forcing me to leave, Finnick wraps his arms around me soothingly and lets me cry into his shoulder. He gently rubs my back until I stop crying.

"Was it this bad for you?" I ask.

I feel him nod. "That's the thing about my Games. They don't make it seem like I had a rough time at all. I was so adored that the Gamemakers made it look like a stroll down the beach for me. I did have it easier than most as far as supplies go, but I still killed kids and every night I see at least one of their faces." He gently pushes me away and holds me at arm's length.

"It doesn't matter what happens before the arena. Most of us, once we get there, we don't kill because we want to, we kill because we have to. When you killed the boy from 10, I could see it in your eyes. You weren't enjoying it. You were just acting for the cameras, pretending to brutal to appease the Gamemakers. That's why none of the other victors will hate you when you show up next year. They're all killers. They're all going through their own personal hells and a lot of them try to escape. Alcohol, morphling, cutting, training tributes, pretending to be someone you're not…all different ways to achieve one goal."

"…I'm sorry for every bad thing I ever thought or said about you." I reach up to wipe my eyes.

"Apology accepted. Now, let's go and get you cleaned up."

"Uh, I think I can manage to wash up on my own." I half laugh, half sob.

"Well, if you need help, the offer's there." He cracks a grin.

When we arrive in the dining car, me tucked protectively under his arm, the other victors and Tina stare.

"Where'd you find her?" Marrian asks softly. Finnick just shakes his head.

"You look like hell," Beril says matter-of-factly and somewhat cheerfully. She takes a drink straight from the bottle.

"Since when do you drink?" I ask Beril.

"Since when do you have emotional meltdowns?" she counters, taking another drink of wine.

I scowl and shrug away from Finnick. I thank him with my eyes then march out of the car towards my room. I spend a long time in the shower, letting the warm water wash away all my makeup and traces of tears. But the water does nothing to cleanse my mind. I can't get rid of the image of Pisces' corpse in his casket.

I brush the tangles out of my hair then change into a flannel shirt and pants and curl up in my bed. I'm not hungry. I'll be forgiven for not watching the recap of the interviews. I just want to escape into unconsciousness. Of course, unconsciousness isn't an escape route for me anymore.

I go from curling up under the covers to being held down by an invisible force while people with rat-mutt faces loom over me, their nails elongating into claws, tearing at my skin, throwing water on me—

I bolt up in bed and thrash at my attacker. After a second, I recognize the dark-haired woman above me and I focus on calming my breathing.

Beril's face is completely-void of emotion, just like her voice when she says, "Hurry up and shower. We'll be arriving in thirty minutes."

But a small smile crosses her face as he hands me a pack of salt. "Marrian figured you might want those."

In the shower, I fill a large cup with water and mix in the salt then pour it over my body. The familiar scent of home fills the small room and for the first time in what feels like years, I breathe a sigh of real relief. I dry my hair and comb the tangles out. I change into a sky blue tunic and dark denim pants, slip on some sandals, then fasten my token around my neck. I run a brush through my hair again then head down to the dining car.

"There she is," Tina says brightly. Her Capitol accent is so repelling that I tune her out and look at Finnick hopefully.

He gives me a gentle smile.

Ten minutes until we disembark, not enough time for a full meal so they give me a few a chocolate muffin and some apple juice, and I'm ushered down to the compartment for my grand entrance. I'm gulping down the last drops of my juice when the train pulls to the stop. Tina pats my mouth with a napkin then shoos me away from the doors before they open.

She steps out and people cheer halfheartedly. No one wants to see her. They want to see the victors, or to be specific, me.

The salty hair of home makes me feel lighter and happier than I have since I woke up from the Games.

One by one, in order of their Games, the victors step out onto the platform, the cheers reaching new levels when Finnick emerges. I walk into view and I'm overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who have come to welcome me home; camera crews and reporters, obviously, plus a bunch of people from the district, at least half of whom I don't recognize.

They shout in approval when I step out of the train, but two voices overshadow the rest.

Screaming my name over and over in high-pitched voices of excitement, my little brother and sister sprint towards me faster than striking sharks. Lana's hair streams out behind her and she nearly trips twice and Evan stumbles a few times, too. They crash into me and it's all I can do to not fall over or start crying again. I pull them close, unwilling to let them go. Then I feel Mom and Dad hugging me, Luke's hand on my shoulder, and I know I'm home.

For now.

Standing in the crowd are my friends. Among them I spot Annie Cresta, waving at me, and I remember that in a few months I'll be going on my victory tour, and not long after that, I will be escorting her to the Capitol, where she will either ultimately meet her end, or survive to live in the never ending cycle of the Hunger Games as I have sentenced myself to do.

* * *

**OOH dramatic...  
**

**Ya know, after typing that last sentence, for a moment or so, I considered ending it there. But then I remembered all the stuff I wanted to do. All the things I wanted to delve into, all the relationships that needed exploring, and things that needed to be resolved. **

**SO, from here on out, it's Dylan's life as a victor. Just a warning, there will be time skips between chapters in the future. In the chapters covering Annie's Games these time skips will not be as large (hours, usually, if even that long). However, in the other chapters, this will not be so. Anywhere from weeks to years could've passed in between and I do at least allude to how much time has passed. Why? Because I'm trying to keep this story at a reasonable length. And from here out we've got about seven years to cover, during which time Dylan has a lot of "character building" stuff to do and a lot of sense she's gotta get slapped into her.  
**

**I will say one last thing: The story ends around the time of the Quarter Quell. **

**Review/fav/tell yo friends/find me on PO :D  
**


	18. Punishment

**You can thank Kazz for this chapter coming a wee bit earlier than planned. (I planned to release it next Wednesday or so...)**

**So, ehem. Welcome to _my_ version of District 4. Enjoy your stay.**

* * *

During the month following the Hunger Games, I settle into life as a victor. Move into the extravagant house, buy new clothes because the damn surgeons changed my figure so much that most of my old clothes don't fit, get used to having virtually unlimited money, realize no one can look at me without a bit of fear, try to cope with night terrors.

My parents chose to remain in their house in Crest, the main town of the district, where I'd grown up. Luke, too, though I offered them all residence with me. Lana and Evan are at the age where they must live in the training center, but as a victor and future trainer, I can let them come to my home sometimes.

I think Mom and Dad are a bit scared to live with me, to be honest. They stayed with me the first night I'd settled in and I woke up screaming from a horrible nightmare where I helplessly watched the rat mutts eat Garret alive before moving onto Pisces, and finally Sawyer. The door flew open and I whipped a knife up at them so fast it's a miracle Luke was able to hold up the metal tray he'd brought fast enough to deflect it. I could've killed them and they'd just wanted to see why I was screaming bloody murder. Ugh, what an appropriate phrase.

And speaking of Luke… I don't know what's up with him. He hasn't been meeting my eyes and every time I see him he finds some excuse to leave quickly.

My old friends, Heather, Catia, Ryin, Spence, and Lily don't seem comfortable around me anymore, either. I don't blame them. I'm a murderer. I sleep with a knife tucked under my pillow. One under my mattress as well. I can't even pretend to be interested in the trivial parts of their life anymore. Finishing school, younger siblings, finding full time jobs, new clothing sizes, who's interested who, and what's in style among those who can afford the luxuries of fashion.

It's all so unimportant, so insignificant compared to my worries and problems.

Self-centered? Maybe. Maybe not.

But my problems _are_ much bigger than theirs. I can't sleep without being tormented by night terrors. I can't look at Pisces' family without seeing the gaping hole where he should be. I can barely stand to look at my clothes, knowing Garret's friends and family made them. Maybe Garret himself played a part in the creation of that tunic, or this pair of shorts. I can't even bear to climb the tree in my front yard without feeling like I've abandoned someone important to the horrors below. Worst of all, every time I hear someone sing or hum the lullaby Garret murmured to me that night in the arena; it's all I can do not to break down crying.

Whenever I'm ready, I get to start as a trainer for the potential tributes of District 4. I'm still wondering how I'll be able to lie through my teeth to those kids about what they're getting in to. I've got four months, or so, until I'm going to get paraded around Panem so everyone can pretend they love me, even if I did just so happen to kill their kids/friends/kin. Then next year I've got to guide Annie Cresta and whichever boy won through to the arena. And then I get to share the responsibility of keeping her alive.

I won't let my brother or sister become tributes. That's why I'm going to become a trainer before I turn, like, twenty. I want them both _out_ before they're convinced they've got enough experience to volunteer early like Finnick. Marrian has agreed to find good excuses to expel them.

One day, about three weeks after my homecoming, the urge to return to the sea becomes unbearable, and I rise earlier than the sun. I slip on a diving suit and over it a pair of denim long shorts and a loose tunic. Then I pull on my old thick deck boots and observe myself in the mirror. Except for my hair, which I have cut to a spot halfway up my back and the definite increase in my chest size, I look like my old self again. I strap on my belt and hook the knife sheath to it.

I quickly make my way out of Victor's Village and down the dark and empty road towards Crest five miles away. After the arena, the distance of five miles is nothing. I jog it in under an hour, arriving in Crest when the sun rises. People are already up and about. Thanks to my new haircut, most people don't recognize me, for during the Games I always had very long hair. From afar I look like just another young woman heading to work.

I pause on the edge of the docks. The sound of the ocean calms me as it always has and I stare at the rising sun. The skies aren't red. Today will be a good day. I remember Garret saying how much he loves sunrise. Erm, I mean, how much he _loved_ sunrise. He used to climb onto their roof to watch the sun emerge.

"But the other buildings always blocked most of the view," he'd complained and I'd told him about sunrises in District 4, one morning in the arena

"I know you would've liked it here, Garret." I murmur now. "There's nothing to block the sun here."

He says nothing. He usually doesn't now that I'm home. Is it because, maybe, I don't need him anymore? Or maybe there's just been no real reason for him to talk to me. I'm not alone, not really, and I'm not scared to death or anything.

I head down the dock, past the shack where Brok's office is. He's probably not there yet. According to the rules of the Games, I am technically no longer required to work in the industry. He never actually fired me himself but I haven't showed up once since returning home. So I don't know. Well, we'll see today.

I don't know if I want my job again full time, but I want it for today.

The boat I was usually stationed on is called _Denali_. It's not that large, but it's no rowboat either. There are a few cabins below decks for when we're on overnight trips. The boat itself is used for catching smaller fish, no sharks or whales for us, but we tend to bring in heaps.

She's anchored in her usual spot, three away from the end, with the ramp down for the crew to dock. People brush past me without glancing, unaware of what's come among them. I smile and walk up the ramp, feeling the familiar wobbly wood under my feet. Brok still hasn't had that weak spot fixed from the look of it. Just have to step over that.

Some of the crew are already onboard, but no one looks up when I join them. I purse my lips, looking around. Before when I would board, I would help Leathan with the routine inspection of the nets. I head around to the starboard side where, sure enough, Leathan is already working. I smile at the familiar sight of his sun kissed blonde hair, bound by a thong with two beads on the end. He's only a few years older than I am, maybe twenty-three, and very good-natured, especially since, well, there's no romantic attraction between us. I'm not really supposed to know this, but Leathan…well…he doesn't like girls, not like that, anyway.

He doesn't notice me, not even when I'm right behind him, watching his expert fingers examine each inch of the rope. I kneel down next to him and pick up a portion of the rope yet to be examined. He jumps when he notices my presence and I feel his eyes on me. I smile to myself and continue to inspect the rope, looking for any signs of wear and tear or anything else that could mess our whole day up. Finally, I look up at him and smile.

"Figured you could use a hand," I say.

Leathan continues to stare at me, mouth open like a fish's. Then his eyes brighten and his mouth stretches into a grin and he actually throws his arms around me.

"Physical contact!" I gasp out, but he knows I'm only kidding.

"Sweet Poseidon, Dylan, you scared the salt out of me!" He laughs and leans back, putting his hands on my cheeks. "I've missed you like you wouldn't believe! Damn you, girl, for running off to the Capitol like that. You weren't trying to win no Games. You were trying to get out of work, that's what."

I smile ruefully. "You caught me. So, are you going to crush my face all day or are you going to help me with this," I ask, glancing at the nets.

Leathan laughs and gives me a big kiss on the forehead. "Damn you, girl," he repeats letting me go. And I laugh.

Here on _Denali,_ the crew is a family and Leathan is my big brother. On this boat, I have no other family than the men and women onboard. While I'm here, I won't be Dylan Syle, victor of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games. I will be just Dylan, a fisher from District 4. And honestly, I like it far better this way.

Leathan and I fall back into our old routine with ease, our sharp eyes inspecting every fiber of the nets.

"So, what brings you back here?" Leathan asks. "Doesn't a mighty victor like you have other things to do?"

I snort. "Like what? Spend endless amounts of money or train little killers?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Nah. Boring. Besides, I've been dying to get back out here."

"Dying. Yeah…um…" He clears this throat. "Maybe not the best phrase to use, all things considered."

I flinch. "Yeah. All things considered."

Within a half hour we've covered enough rope to circle the entire boat ten times. _Denali _has already left port and the land is becoming smaller behind us.

Leathan and I head on to the main deck to announce my presence to the Captain. Granted, I probably should've done this first before seeking out Leathan, but I really wanted to surprise that boy. He hovers a few feet away from me and I stand in the middle of the deck and stare patiently at the bridge for the Captain to come out because, honestly, I'm a bit scared to go in there. I've got no idea what kind of reception I'm going to get.

It gets quieter and quieter as people notice me then tap their neighbor and point. When it feels like the entire crew is staring at me, the middle-aged, black-haired Captain emerges from the bridge.

"What are you all standing around for? We aren't paying you to—oh." He's seen me.

The Captain, Irwin, stares. I stand with my legs apart, my left arm behind my back, and I press my right fist over my heart, the sign of respect in District 4. I wait nervously. He slowly walks down the stairs and through the crew towards me. I force my lips to twitch into a smile.

"Permission to come aboard, sir?" I ask.

"I…I think it's a bit late to ask that," he says.

"Well, you _do_ allow tributes in your crew, don't you?"

"Generally, no we don't." Irwin says. "But, for you, I think we'll make an exception."

Then he smiles and extends his arms. I lean forward and get caught in a big bear hug. He laughs and thumps me on the back. Around me, the crew laughs, calling welcome to me. I smile. Here, I'm _not _avictor. Here, I'm just me.

It turns out today's is an overnight trip. In retrospect, maybe I should have checked the schedule before stowing away. If I'm gone for over twenty-four hours, someone ashore is bound to notice. Oh well. It's not like they can really do anything to me.

I fall back into the old rhythm with ease. They give me my diving gear: a pair of goggles designed to see in all types of water, flippers, a small pack that draws the air out of water, and Leathan helps me strap it on, even though I can do it myself. I jump in the water and down I go. The water envelopes me. I smile. Home.

I linger just below the surface for a few moments, loving the familiar feeling of the cool salt water, warmed slightly from the sun. Then I feel a push on my back. I turn, recognizing the feeling of someone kicking at me. It's one of the other divers. He folds his arms, frowning the best he can through the breather in his mouth, and points downward. I nod. Time to work. I turn myself and dive down, kicking my legs that, powered by flippers, push me downwards towards the traps.

I will never cease to be amazed by how stupid fish can be sometimes. We've been setting these traps the same way for over eighty years in the same area. Sometimes I expected to dive down and find them empty, but no. Every time, at least most of them are occupied.

I pull the first one off the floor and kick upward. Near the surface, I grab one of the magnetic hooks and fasten it to the cage. I tug sharply on it three times and away it goes. I dive back down again.

It takes about an hour for us to transport all the cages up and then reset them back down there, then the haul us aboard and we move on to drop our nets. I pull off my gear and sigh. Leathan is there, smiling, and hands me a protein bar.

"Heard you talking durin' the Games." He says.

I glance at him and continue to chew.

"You really did miss us."

I nod.

"…You were lonely without that boy."

"Garret." I say. "His name was Garret. And yes."

Leathan smiles. "Well, you're home now."

I nod again.

That night, predictably, the crew has a sort of welcoming home party for me. An older sailor called Buchanan breaks out the bottles of rum he always manages to sneak on board despite the rules. For the first time, they allow me to drink the alcoholic beverages even though, technically, I'm still too young.

He uncorks the bottle and hands it to me for the first drink proclaiming loudly that if I am tough enough to survive the Hunger Games, then I am "worthy of the first drink of the finest bottle of rum onboard."

Laughing and blushing a bit, I accept the bottle from Buchanan as the crew hoots and I take a drink. The alcohol burns my throat and at first I have the urge to spit it out, but then I detect the sweetness from the sugar cane and I gulp it down. Not bad, really.

"'ey!" Buchanan says. "I said you could have the firs' drink. I didn' say you could have the 'ole bottle."

I lower the bottle, laughing while I'm trying to swallow and I end up coughing until Mira, a middle-aged woman with dark red hair, thumps me on the back while the others laugh and hoot some more. Leathan especially seems to be enjoying it. I stick my tongue out at him.

We end up singing an old song. And, of course, most of them can barely carry a tune so we sound like a bunch of wailing cats until the Captain comes down below decks and tells us to shut up or we'll get tossed overboard.

Then he frowns at Buchanan who, of course, is holding a bottle of brandy (the rum was finished off long ago) without shame. "My tolerance of alcohol onboard aside, you better not have given any of that to the kid."

Since I'm the only one in the room that's able to be called a kid, I bristle indignantly and glare at Irwin.

Buchanan smiles, showing some of his missing teeth, "Of course not, Captain. Didn't give Dylan no brandy."

Well, it's technically not a lie.

"Hmm." Irwin narrows his eyes and Buchanan caps the brandy bottle. "Get to bed, the lot of you. We've got _work_ tomorrow. You know, that thing we're paying most of you for?"

And the moment he's gone, Buchanan tosses the bottle of brandy to me and winks conspiratorially. A low chuckle runs through the sailors as I uncork it and take a swig. I swallow, smile, cap it, then everyone breaks out laughing.

* * *

Near the end of the month, I sit on the beach alone, watching the rolling waves and fiddling with the wooden flute I got in the Capitol. I hear footsteps behind me.

"Hey, Dilly!"

I grit my teeth at the despised nickname and sigh. "Hello, Evan."

My little brother plops down into the sand beside me with a fishing pole. It must be one of those rare free days where all the training kids get the day off and can head out and do whatever they want as long as they're on time for breakfast by the next morning.

I don't know how much longer I can think of Evan as 'little.' He's definitely hit puberty now. His voice is starting to deepen, but the way it cracks over every other word is hilarious. He's growing like a weed and has already complained about needing to shave. Lana's definitely a late bloomer, though; her voice has barely lost its squeak and she's not getting much of a figure yet. They're growing up faster than I'd like, and I'll make sure they both live to become adults.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

I hold up the wooden flute.

"Oh, that's the thing the little Capitol girl gave to you, isn't it? Do you know her name?"

"Nope," I say. "_Definitely_ at the top my list of things I'd like to know, though."

He sighs at my sarcasm. "Well…can you play?"

"A bit," I say and press my lips to the mouth and blow a bit. A sweet note fills the air for a moment and I press my fingers to the holes, trilling out a small song.

"Pretty," he says.

"I guess. I know I can do better if I practice more."

"Well, you'll have plenty of time for that." Is that _envy_ I hear in his voice? I shoot him a look that makes him raise his hands like Garret did when he could see me getting mad.

The flute slips through my fingers and I turn my head quickly. "Don't do that."

"What? …Oh." I hear the quiet rustle as he puts his hand on the sand. "Sorry."

I say nothing and look down at my feet.

"You…did you…" he trails off and makes a small noise of frustration. "Did you, um, did you like him?"

"Of course," I say automatically. "Once I got used to him, it was impossible not—oh. You don't mean like that." I swallow and press my lips together. "I don't know. And I'd rather not think about it."

"Why?"

"Because he's dead, Evan," I say, a familiar lump rising in my throat. "And it won't do any good to go prodding and digging for things that may or may not have happened in the arena. All I can do is just go on with my life. …Please go away, Evan. I want to be alone right now."

He says nothing, but I hear him get up, retrieve his pole, and walk away. I wait until the sound of his footsteps fades before I turn to look. He's heading to the small fishing cove, no doubt. It's a good place to sit with a rod. Totally illegal, of course, but the Peacekeepers haven't ever really minded.

I sink back to the ground and pick up my discarded flute. I stared at it for a long moment, wondering if I should throw the thing into the ocean like I want to. I tuck it into my belt on the opposite side of the knife. I can't leave my bedroom without a knife on me. I've tried, oh hell I've tried, but I just can't force myself around the corner of the hallway without some form of defense. The arena has scarred me in ways those surgeons couldn't fix.

I wonder if I'll ever be able to be truly at ease again. I wonder if it's even possible to fully pull my mind out of the arena. Will ever be able to separate my present from my past or am I always going to be stuck in a sort of limbo?

When I tromp down the main road into the residential part of Victor's Village, I notice something's out of place almost at once. Before the arena, doing a survey of my surroundings as I walked was something done out of habit and for comfort. Now it is a necessity that brings a feeling of extreme apprehension unless it is done.

I do another scan, more thorough, and realize what's abnormal.

Victor's Village is a lot larger than it was seventy years ago when they built the first twelve houses here, almost identical to the ones in every other district. When a tribute is crowned victor, they automatically get a house in Victor's Village, the neighborhood set off for Hunger Games victors only. Ideally, it would've been decades before a district needed more houses built since there are enough houses for each district to have twelve victors, but due to the training, District 4 has a lot more victors than most. We had to requisition a dozen more homes by the 30th Hunger Games and after that they'd started recycling them, per se. Old victors moved out or died. Some victors, like Marrian and Twyla, decided to take up residence at the training center to have easier access to their pupils. After my Victory Tour, in which certain things will be filmed in my house, I'm probably just going to move there, too.

Over the years, the Village expanded. The training center for the Trails was relocated to the outskirts, the main hospital was constructed here—with subsequent clinics and apothecary shops branching across the district—along with the market about half a mile away from the victor's homes where the more expensive goods were sold. Nice clothes, exquisite foods, technology, and the weapons used for the trainees.

Usually, the only people in the residential area are the victors themselves or their families and friends or delivery kids on occasion. Almost never do the trainees venture in here alone, unless a victor or accompanies them, even on their off days. This is a place where trainees view as a place they can earn the right to enter one day, not one that they can casually loiter in, like the girl waiting on my front porch.

I remember her from somewhere besides the Trials. She's got the gangly body of someone who will be tall, but hasn't quite hit her final growth spurt just yet. Her cheeks are still round with baby fat and her dark golden hair falls in ringlets that make her look about ten when actually she's about thirteen. In a couple of years, I imagine she'll look quite menacing if she puts her mind to it.

Right now, for entirely different reasons, she looks intimidating. Wide-eyed, body language betraying her emotions, she nervously waits on my front porch. I narrow my eyes and quicken my pace so I'm a few feet from her about half a minute after I first noticed her presence.

"Can I help you?" I ask.

The girl purses her lips nervously. Her nervousness plus the heat of the day causes sweat to break across her brow. I was right. Something is wrong. Really wrong.

"I'm sorry!" the girl blurts out. "It wasn't my fault!"

"_What_ wasn't your fault?" I ask. "And what's your name?"

"Tabitha." The girl replies. "I'm Evan's friend."

_Oh that's right_. Evan had her over a few times when they were younger. Friends, just like Pisces and I were at their age. Nothing more and nothing less, until he hit puberty and became an ass.

_Or maybe he _did_ like you, just like Fleece thought. _A voice in my head, not Garret, says wickedly. I ignore it.

"What isn't your fault?" I repeat more calmly than I feel.

"He… Evan's… he's hurt."

My blood turns to ice and my hands curl into claws. "How?" I snap.

"He was climbing down to the cove and he slipped." She explains, tears pooling in her eyes. "He hit some rocks on his way down. It's terrible. They, they didn't want me to tell you yet but I—hey wait for me!"

I was already running across my yard in the direction of the hospital. Tabitha chases me, which brings my instinct to fight to the surface. It's stronger than my urge to get to my brother. I stop and whirl around.

"Run in front of me." I order.

She doesn't question it, she runs past me and I let her get far enough ahead before I resume running.

'_Pathetic.'_ Garret says. Ah. I should've been expecting him to make an a appearance, what with the adrenaline coursing through my veins and all. '_You c__an't even stand to have an unarmed little girl running behind you.'_

We don't even make it into the hospital before we're intercepted. Zaire and Finnick stand in front of the entrance like a barricade, their expressions grim.

"Tabitha, you will go to your dorm. This instant." Zaire barks. "And in the future, you will not disobey orders or you will be expelled. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," she mumbles.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes sir!" Tabitha puts her fist over her heart then skitters away, but not before throwing me a terrified look. After a moment, Finnick follows her, no doubt making sure she does what she's told.

Zaire remains, though, a barricade between me and my brother.

"Let me in." I brace myself to fight past him. I may not have his reputation, but I'm just as much of a victor as he is and he has no authority over me anymore.

"No. Not yet." Zaire puts one of his mechanical hands on my shoulder. "Come with me." He says. "Your parents will arrive shortly and you need to understand before you face them."

I obey, mostly out of curiosity, though every ounce of me screams to get into my little brother. I can't help but think…that this is my fault.

Zaire's hand leaves my shoulder as we pass through the Village market. It's not uncommon to see victors walking together, but if it appears that Zaire is forcing me to walk with him, then it'll raise suspicion. Once we're away from the people, his hand goes to my back and he guides me through the victor mansions, beyond them, into the tall grass. He leads me to a spot well out of hearing distance from the mansions and sits down in the grass, motioning for me to do the same. I do and demand to know why I'm here.

Zaire holds up his mechanical hands. They have artificial skin over them to make them look as real as possible, but on contact one can feel the hard metal beneath and the lifelessness of the fake limbs.

"What do you know about my Hunger Games?"

"Not much. Just that you lost your arms because of something that happened near the end."

"Correct," he says. "Do you know why?"

"No."

"You undoubtedly know that, sometimes, Gamemakers knock off a tribute just to remind everyone they can?"

Of course. It was a big fear of mine after Garret was murdered. The Gamemakers like to pick on the stronger, specifically Career, tributes because we train for years, we're more powerful than the others. Killing us reminds everyone that even the strongest are no match for them.

"Is that what happened to you?" I ask.

He nods.

"But then, how did you survive?"

"Sometimes, I'm not even sure of that myself," he admits. "They sent firebombs down at me. It's a miracle I managed to survive the three remaining days of the Hunger Games. I didn't win by killing the final tribute. He fell down into this pit and broke his neck while trying to escape an animal. Needless to say, the Capitol wasn't pleased. I, in a way, defeated them.

"My arms got infected from all the burns and gashes and they were amputated, leaving me with these." He looks down at his hands with disgust for a moment. "When I got home, my celebration was short lived. A week after my homecoming, my parents drowned when their boat. I got a chance to dive down there and inspected the damage myself. It wasn't an accident like the Peacekeepers claimed. The rudder chain had been disabled. My father would have never disabled it, nor would he have set out with it being disabled. It was deliberate. They were murdered."

My eyes widen with horror as I get what he's saying. "And the only reason Peacekeepers would cover up a murder…is if they had something to do with it."

"Exactly," Zaire says darkly. "Of course, I was scared of revealing what I'd learned. Then three weeks later, my older sister _accidentally _drowned, too. That's when Mags told me why. It doesn't happen to everyone, just those of us who really piss off or upstage the Gamemakers. Me, Reno, Beatrice, Kevin…you…just a few examples of the many tributes who don't do what they're supposed to."

"What'd they do to Reno?"

"His girlfriend, she's there when he gets off the train, but two days later they find her body, ravaged with Tracker Jacker venom. Bloody, unlike his final kill."

"Oh...no…" I whisper. Then my head snaps around towards the hospital. "Evan."

"Yes. You survived when you should've died. And now…"

I shudder and look at the ground. "No." I moan.

"Evan was the first, maybe the only, if you're lucky. He won't survive. Whoever orchestrated this set it up so he would fall in one of the worse possible places. His spine is broken. It's a miracle his neck wasn't. But that was the goal, I'm sure. If he leaves the hospital alive, they will see to it that he dies somehow. Or maybe they'll let him live and spend the rest of his life as a cripple so every time you see him, you'd you know it was your fault. …If you want to throw a tantrum, you may do so now."

Tantrum? That doesn't seem like an appropriate way to let out everything I'm feeling.

"They killed your whole family for living when you should've died." I say calmly. "They won't stop with Evan, will they?"

"Probably not."

I clench my fists and shake my head. "No. You…you have to help me. You have to…to…protect Lana. There's nothing you can do for my parents or Luke that won't look suspicious. But you can protect Lana. Keep her in the training center at all times until their revenge scheme blows over."

"I thought you wanted her out."

"Right now, in that building is the safest place in the district for her," I say, hating the words. "Please, Zaire, try to protect her."

"I _will_ try." He promises me. "I will get as many of the others in on this as I can, but you must understand that we can make no promises. If they want her dead then there's little we can do stop it."

"There has to be a reason one of them hasn't been killed yet." I say. "I think it's because neither of them have been _out_ until now. I think, for now at least, Lana will be safe as long as she stays _in._"

Evan dies that night as we all crowd around the bed. Zaire wasn't lying about how bad his injuries were. The cove is closed for business, but I know sooner or later someone will venture down again on a new, safer route, and gradually word will spread, and the cove will become the worst-kept-secret secret fishing place again.

I don't let my parents pay for the cost of all the medicine and tools the hospital used to try to save him. I pay for it all. His coffin, a grave stone with his name carved into it…everything. And it barely makes a dent in my wealth.

Luke doesn't meet my eyes any time during the small farewell ceremony. Not even when we sit next together, grasping hands in the time-honored custom, of sending him away as a family. As soon as it's over, Lana is whisked back to the training center, despite Mom's protests. I want to tell her why Evan was killed, but I'm afraid that she will hold me accountable. Because it is my fault.

Luke knows. I'm sure of it. Why else would he refuse to look at me willingly? When he leaves, I follow him. He looks back, sees me following and scowls, but he doesn't attempt to ditch me. I follow him down to the docks where he normally departs for work. He took the day off to say goodbye to Evan. Under the dock, he sits on the rocks. I stand a few feet behind him. We stay like that for several minutes, him sitting and ignoring me, and me standing and waiting for him to acknowledge me. "Look at me, please" I finally whisper.

He inhales and exhales just as slowly, but does not even glance at me.

"Why won't you look at me?" I ask.

"I don't want to look at a killer," he says. "Especially not my brother's killer."

"I didn't murder him!"

"They killed him because of you, Dylan. You don't think I haven't noticed? A victor does something that pisses off the Capitol somehow, and they lose someone they love."

He says it like I planned it. A wail of protest rises from my throat. "I didn't know they'd retaliate like that! He had nothing to do with what went on the arena!"

"I wonder who's next," he muses to himself. "Me? Lana? Mom? Dad? One of your friends? I guess only time will tell."

"The other victors are protecting Lana." I say. "They'll be keeping her under lock and key."

"I figured. They got her out of there pretty quick." He says. "Poor Lana, she's like a bird. Now they'll put her in a cage to protect her from something you instigated." Luke shakes his head and I feel like he punched me in the gut. "So, tell me, sister, are you looking forward to the Victory Tour?"

"I am looking forward to seeing the other districts," I admit. "But not the other parts of the Tour."

"Don't want to look Skyler's mother in the eye, do you?" he finally turns to look at me and his expression is hateful, sneering. "Or Carson, Rinn, Brit, Sawyer, or Jules—no wait, you wanted to kill Jules. I forgot. You smiled when he died."

"Yes I did." I snap, taking a step forward. I won't let him guilt me this way. "I had to kill them in order to live. Do you wish I had died in there like Rilee? Did you want Mom to go through that again?"

"Of course I wanted you to win," he says. "I was rooting for you when you only killed because you had to. But what you did to Skyler…" he shakes his head. "That was cruel and unnecessary. He was a little boy!"

'_That's what I said,'_ Garret says.

"I know!" I shout. "Don't you think I know? _I was there!_ I saw the fear in his eyes. I wanted nothing more than to just kill him with an arrow into the heart, but the Gamemakers wanted blood."

"They sent him to you because you asked for someone to kill." He stands up, hands clenched. I automatically brace myself for battle. Will he fight me? "They did it because they wanted you to punish him for being friends with Annalee."

"I _know!_ I did what they wanted! I'm sorry, alright!"

He shakes his head. "Don't ask me to forgive you. You destroyed my little sister and replaced her with a killer. Never, _ever,_ ask for my forgiveness until you earn it from the families of everyone you killed."

And then he walks away.

I figured he, or Mom, or Dad would be next if they decided to kill another member of my family But…I was wrong. The training building is not as safe as I thought.

Not even a week after we bury Evan, I have to stand outside of my mother and father's house with Finnick and the head honcho of the Trials, Savan, holding a box full of Lana's stuff, while tears stream down my cheeks. It takes all my courage and will not to bolt, but I have to do this. Finnick leans his head against mine, a substitute for a hug since his arms are full. My mother opens the door.

She looks at the three of us almost uncomprehendingly for a moment, then her sharp eyes zero in on my tear-streaked face. I, a mighty victor, crying…

"No," she breathes.

"Jenny?" Dad calls. "Who is it?"

Mom is gripping the doorframe for support. When Dad comes to the door he looks at us, then his eyes narrow.

"Savan?" he growls.

Savan bows his head and his shaggy unkempt hair falls around his face. "You daughter Lana is dead. She was in the gym where some of the other children were learning archery and one of the arrows went…off course."

And then Mom's legs give out. Dad catches her.

Luke comes to the door. He sees us, he sees Dad clutching Mom with tears falling down his own face. His eyes harden to stone as he glares at me. Accusing me. And then Mom looks up at me. In that second, she blames me. She knows why her youngest son and daughter died. The box slips through my fingers and hits the ground with a crash. I run.

Running or fighting. That's really all I can do. And this is an enemy I cannot fight. So I run. And I don't stop running as I leave Crest behind me. I run through the open lands of 4, to the Victors Village, where I race past the shops and few patrons, and into my house. I don't even make it to my bedroom before I collapse in a barrage of tears. I drag myself into the space between my couch and the wall and I cry. And for once, Garret says nothing. What could he say, anyway? That it's not my fault? It is. My parents don't blame me? They do. Luke does. That I deserve it? He's not that cruel.

Finnick finds me. Of course he does. Finnick always finds me because, truthfully, I think he is the only one who really cares about me. I may be hostile towards him sometimes, but, really, when has he ever been horrible to me? Sure he was a pain in the ass, but…he has never once been deliberately cruel to me.

"Dylan," he whispers several times, finally coaxing me out. I inch my way out and when I'm close enough, he pulls me the rest of the way then crushes me to his chest when I start to cry again.

"Why?" I gasp. "Why her? She was so young. She did _nothing_ wrong. Luke was right…I murdered my little brother and sister."

Finnick gently kisses my forehead and force once I don't protest. "I don't know why the Capitol does what they do. Other than to punish us for our ancestor's mistakes, I have no idea. Lana didn't deserve it, neither did Evan. No one who's been forced into the arena deserves it—even the ones who chose the tribute path don't deserve it. But, Dylan, you _did not do this_. The Capitol did. It's not your fault."

"She was supposed to be _safe…_"

"No one's safe." He whispers, and I think it's more to himself than me. "No one."

* * *

**Hmm. I just realized the computer I'm using is a touch screen. Interesting... **

**Introducing...Leathan, everyone! He won't be very important as far as the plot goes (not that I've planned, anyway) but I still love him ^_^ He has funny expressions he'll use, especially later.**

**Review/fav/tell yo friends...**


	19. Tour

**And here it is, folks! The slightly depressing VICTORY TOUR! **

* * *

They will come today. My prep team, Alaina, and the cameras. Today begins my Victory tour. I do a quick 360 of the room to make sure everything is set up well enough for the interview in a while, then head back upstairs to wait for my parents.

I'm not looking forward to their arrival. I've tried my hardest to not come in direct contact with them since Lana's funeral. I haven't looked Mom directly in the eyes since. How can I? I'm the reason she's lost her children. Luke, at least, is making it easy for me to avoid him since he avoids me like someone with scurvy.

The door opens downstairs and my mother's voice echoes through the house.

"Up here, Mom!" I call back.

A minute later, she and Dad are standing a few feet from me…then Dad puts his arm around my shoulders. I tense up for a moment and then relax.

"So how are you doing, Dylan?" Dad asks and I force myself to meet his gaze. "You never come home to visit us."

I shrug.

"Surely you're not that busy."

Why? Why is he talking this way? Why can't he just say it? I'm the reason Lana and Evan were murdered.

"Don't want to talk about it," I mutter, studying my feet. "Alaina will be here soon." I try to pull away, but his arm remains firmly around me.

"It's not your fault, you know," he whispers.

I nod once then he lets me walk away and I retreat into my room. I collapse onto the silk blankets of my bed and wait for the tell-tale sounds of cars driving up.

I hear the gentle hum of the motors before doors open and close and high-pitched voices call out greetings in the accent of the Capitol. I sigh and roll off the far side of my bed and crouch down out of sight from the door. The front door opens, footsteps clatter up the stairs, and my door opens. I wait for the preps to scan the room with their eyes.

Then Lynnea calls out, "Dylan?"

I spring up onto my bed and roar. They shriek in alarm but recover quickly, scolding me lightly, then I jump down from my bed and they whisk me into the large bathroom.

Iris is not here, I notice that right off. I inquire about it before they can begin to assess what work needs done.

"She quit," Simona says, watching my face closely, "Several months ago, in fact. She works for a magazine now."

"Good for her," I say. Huh. Seems my riot act did some good.

Simona's short auburn hair has been dyed a brighter shade of red, very close to mine, and the straight locks have been curled into ringlets. The silver jewels around her eyes have been replaced gold ones that travel down her nose and end in the dimple right above her lips. Her long nails are gone, but I notice pretty gold patterns stenciled onto her pale skin. Lynnea's hair and eyes are still light blue and she still looks way too young for her years, but her skin dye has been removed; now I can see she has more of an olive complexion, which matches her features. Cevin still looks like a banana. Yellow skin, brown hair, and no resemblance to Iris.

"Alright, let me see." Lynnea holds out her hand and I place my hands in hers obediently. She tsks softly. "Dylan, you've really got to be more careful."

I smile sheepishly. I've been back out on the _Denali _more than a few times. My hands have gotten scratched and calloused, the nails chewed down to stubs, and scars are visible again.

Simona runs her hands through my hair. "You cut it. But at least it's well cared for." She nods seriously, as if its one big worry erased. "No serious damage."

First they run a bath for me and make me sit there as they massage shampoos and conditioners into my hair and scrub down my body with several soaps and oils. In my room, I'm seated onto a high-backed chair and now that they've gotten the serious bath out of the way, they start to chatter.

I do my best to follow along as they attack my body with tweezers, wax, and goo. By the time they're done, I'm up to date on who's who in the Capitol, the recent dos and don'ts in fashion, and how eager everyone is for my arrival. I don't exactly care, but it's interesting enough to keep my mind occupied. My hair is crimped into small waves of silk, my eyebrows are smooth and thin, a light layer of base covers my new scars, my hands have rubbed in moisturizer, and the rest of my body is completely hairless once again. They paint my nails, and the makeup gives me a laid back appearance; I honestly look as if I've had a completely stress free few months.

I'm given a pretty white and blue tunic to wear, khaki shorts, and sandals. I retrieve my belt from the bed and slip it around my waist. I feel their eyes trained on the knife that is securely fastened to the leather. I slip the wooden flute I'm learning to play into one of the loops on the other side then drape the fabric of my shirt over them.

"Dylan," Simona begins and I can tell a lecture is coming on so I hold up my hand.

"I've tried dozens of times to leave my room without a defense on me and I can't. I just can't. I won't pull it out unless I need it, I promise, but you can't stop me from bringing it."

Downstairs, I find Alaina waiting with Tina Sheen. My stylist is relatively unchanged. Her long hair is still white, her skin is still bluish-white like ice, and her arms are still decorated with elaborate designs. Tina's hair has been dyed a shade of purple that hurts the eyes and she's wearing another Hook dress like she did the last time she was here. If only Pisces could see, he and I would be roaring with laughter.

Luke is in the hallway being interviewed. He's wearing an outfit Alaina designed for him. A sleeve-less shirt with a rip from the sleeve almost to the hem that shows of some of his muscles but gives him an overall hard-worker look. Like me, he also wears some shorts and sandals.

"He looks quite spectacular," Alaina says, admiring my brother in what I seriously hope is in a professional way.

"You did a good job." I hug her. "Thank you."

"You know, I had something designed for your brother and sister, too…." she trails off and sighs. "I'm sorry."

I just shake my head.

Tina claps her hands to get my attention and I give her a hug, welcoming her to my home.

"It's a pleasure to be here," Tina says. "Though the whole color scheme is…" She gazes around at the sand-colored walls, sky blue ceiling and carpets. The furniture goes along with the design, giving my whole house the feeling of a beach.

"What's wrong with it?" I fold my arms across my chest and raise one eyebrow, daring her to criticize my district's preferences just because they don't involve neon color combinations.

"It's somewhat lacking. You need more color! Like green or something."

"What shade?" I ask, intrigued.

"You remember the green on your final interview dress? That green. And maybe some white."

"Hmm, that's actually not a bad idea." Too bad I won't be living in this house much longer.

"Now, are you all ready?" Tina asks. "They're going to interview you about your talent."

Ah, my talent. That took a few weeks to determine. I didn't want to sing, I'm not an artist or a writer like Finnick, I'm not a cook, florist, dancer, and playing small songs on the flute I have hardly counts as a talent. Finally, I just stuck with my original idea: weaving. I've spent a lot of my free time working on it. I've woven baskets, blankets, nets, and a variety of other things with all sorts of materials. Rope, grasses, threads, ribbons… It's actually fun and very time consuming. I was setting everything up earlier.

"It's in here," I lead her, Alaina, and a waiting camera crew into the room where I arranged it all.

"Oh my," Tina says softly, "How extraordinary."

Alaina seems particularly captivated by the large blanket I spread out on the floor. She kneels down and ghosts her fingers across the top. I press my lips together, wondering if she is smart enough to recognize the memorial woven into the fabric. Twenty-four eyes, all different shades of browns, grays, blues, and greens. Each one from a vivid memory forever implanted in my brain. At the center, my own eyes gaze up at us from the midst of the eyes of the other tributes.

Alaina gives me a questioning look.

"It was a nightmare I had a few months ago," I admit softly. "I was in a dark place and I could sense the others around me, but I could only see their eyes. I couldn't get it out of my head."

Trying to sound enthusiastic about my work, I guide the cameras around the room, saying a few words about each piece, and reciting the small speeches I prepared about some of the less personal ones, to be edited in during the final copy.

After that they kick me out of the room so they can get some final shots and prepare it all for the train ride.

Alaina slips my token around my neck, adjusting it so the silver swirl shows. She stands back to admire me then nods. That seems to be some sort of cue. Tina raises her voice and everyone is ushered out the door and into the cars. At the train station, they film me exchanging goodbyes with what's left of my family—my friends were not permitted to come—and greeting Marrian, Reno, and Finnick who will be accompanying me on the tour as my official mentors. And Beril, of course, who's just coming for the party at the end of the tour.

Once inside the train we eat dinner. They've prepared a delicious meal in the styles of District 4 since apparently the meals I will be eating on the tour are arranged by the customs and standards of the district I'm in. After dinner, I simply head to my bedroom and wash off all my makeup. I change into pajamas, and climb into bed. Sleep comes quickly.

The next morning I'm allowed to sleep in since we won't arrive in District 12 until mid-afternoon. I really want to just get this one out of the way. I've seen it on television and I've heard the victors talk. District 12's victor celebrations are dull. There's a small rally that the residents don't even pretend to enjoy and a meal that's extravagant by their standards but dull compared to the Capitol's.

I load breakfast onto a tray then head to the end car where a large glass window provides a beautiful display. I watch the land race by as I eat, admiring the beauty of nature untainted by the…the…essence of the arena. Fields sprout trees, a thick forest consumes us, and mountains spring up as the train races on. The snow is laid on thick and is still coming down.

Then the train begins to slow and there's a moment of darkness as we pass under the fence. I examine the holey, unguarded barrier around the district and I'm surprised. The security on the fence seems very lax. I suppose they don't really have to worry about anything coming in—the district stinks of coal and death—and no one probably has a reason to venture out, except maybe as a dare.

Alaina bursts into the compartment and drags me out so quickly that I don't even have time to grab my plate. Apparently I should've let someone know where I was because she's been looking for me for a while.

District 12 is very small so there isn't much time. They comb out my hair and paint on the makeup, and bring me my outfit. Since it's so cold in District 12, I have to wear leggings under the sleek blue velvet dress. Over the dress is a jacket of white fur I don't recognize, fur gloves, a scarf, and white boots. I slip the knife into my boot. I look at myself in the mirror and my eyes widen.

"I look like ice."

"That was the idea," Alaina laughs. "Your hair stands out beautifully."

_Like__ blood__ on__ the __snow,_ I think, recalling the 62nd Hunger Games, and it's anything but beautiful. Unless you're some sort of twisted, sick artist, then maybe.

When the train pulls into the station, there's a small welcoming committee, but they barely glance my way before we're escorted into a car. It happens so quickly that the chill barely has time to affect me. I peer out at the slummiest, dirtiest district in the country. Some buildings here pale in comparison to some of the more dilapidated buildings in 4. I've seen shacks that are in better condition!

We're let out in the back of the Justice Building and we're ushered towards the front. A microphone is clipped on my dress, Alaina makes sure my makeup is okay, Tina tells me to smile, then I hear the anthem draw to a close and the mayor of District 12 introduces me. The doors open with a groan and I step out onto stage.

The district square is relatively well-kept; this is probably where the well-to-do live. Banners with my name and face cover the place. Tomorrow night they will be divided among families to use as fire kindling.

I smile and fight the urge to run away screaming when I see the faces gazing up at me. The people in the crowd—probably the whole measly population of District 12—clap, but only because they must. I can feel it in the air, the weariness. They don't want to be here, they don't want to be clapping. They don't want _me_ to be here. I'm an outsider, a killer, directly and indirectly responsible for the murders of both their tributes: Hara and Carson. And I can't help it. My eyes flick down to the platform that has been constructed for the tribute's families.

Hara's lot is easily distinguished from her male counterpart's. Her family—her mother, her father, and two little boys, all blonde haired and blue-eyed, except for a woman who must be her grandmother who has dark hair—are starkly contrasted with the dark-haired, dark-eyed males in Carson's womanless family.

They all look up at me, their expressions ranging from pity on Hara's grandmother's face, to anger on one of Carson's older brother's, to confusion on the face of his younger brother. I hold the gaze of Carson's angry brother for a long moment…and then he looks away and I'm able to do the same.

The mayor gives a speech in my honor, a pretty, young blonde girl who looks like the mayor—probably his daughter—walks across the stage carrying a bouquet of flowers for me. I admire them curiously, never having seen anything like these in District 4. Then they give me a plaque that I don't want and it's my turn to ramble off the scripted reply which the Capitol gave me to memorize. I have nothing to say to the people here, no apologies to offer that won't be worthless… The mayor seems to understand because he finishes the ceremony with a few final words, thanks me for coming (as if I had a choice), and shakes my hand.

I grasp it tightly, gazing at him sadly with my eyes, and smiling so the cameras won't catch it.

Then, as they try to sweep me back inside, I turn my head and I meet the eyes of the angry brother again and, for a moment, out of the view of the cameras, I try to let him see my regret and sorrow. I want him to know that I truly hate having his brother's blood on my hands, a tarnish I can never remove. His hard scowl falters as he realizes I'm looking at him. I close my eyes and turn away.

Inside, Alaina helps me out of the ice dress and I change into a pair of thick pants, a long shirt, and a new fur hat and scarf, a new coat designed more for warmth than fashion, and a new pair of gloves. My entire outfit is darkly colored. Apparently I'm getting a brief tour of the district.

There is not much to see, though I'm glad there aren't any cameras trained on me so I can react freely. The dark colors make sense now. A fine layer of coal dust has seemed to settle over the district, even in the snow, and it's impossible not to get the stuff on me. Coal dust is the sand of District 12.

They briefly show me the entrance to the mines, the beginning of the more dilapidated area of the district (Marrian says it's called The Seam), the mercantile area, and finally the Victor's Village. It's hardly a village. Just a ring of twelve houses, all empty but one, and very unwelcoming.

"That's Haymitch Abernathy's house, right?" I point to the only one that appears occupied.

"Yes," Reno says then marches towards the drunkard's house. He raps on the door a few times and calls out, "Haymitch, you slimy git! Wake up!"

After a few minutes of silence during which time we walk towards the house (our escort, a fair-haired woman, mutters about not disturbing Haymitch), the door opens and a middle-aged, uncared for man emerges, a bottle clasped in one hand, a knife in the other. I recognize him, of course, from his years on television.

Haymitch's dark eyes travel over our group and finally rest on me. His mouth pulls up into a grin (it isn't a nice one) and he tucks the knife into his pocket.

"Well, look what we have here. It's the newbie." Whoo boy, is he drunk. I can actually smell it from where I'm standing. I try not to grimace.

Reno sighs. "You bastard, you said you'd be sober!"

"Why?" Haymitch slurs. "She'd better get used to it. I doubt we'll be meeting anytime when I'm sober." And to prove his point, he takes a big slug from his bottle.

"You're never sober."

"Exactly."

"Dylan, may I formerly introduce, Haymitch Abernathy." Reno gestures at the victor of the 2nd Quarter Quell.

"No, you may not." I lift my chin and Haymitch guffaws.

"Pleasure to meet you too, sweetie. Care to join me for a pint?"

"Er, no thank you." I take a step back.

Haymitch laughs again. "Not yet, she means."

"You're a bad influence," Marrian mutters.

"That's why we love him," Finnick says.

"Then why exactly do we love you, Finnick?" I ask and Haymitch laughs, yet again. Finnick smiles at me.

"Hey," says Beril. "If the offer's still open, I'll take that pint, Haymitch."

Reno hauls her away.

Later that evening, the preps adjust my makeup and Alaina helps me into a sleek black evening gown. The dinner itself, though it smells delicious, is very unusual. I've never had some of the foods they prepared. I ignore most of those foods and stick to eating goat cheese and the meat. Garret and I got goat cheese once from a sponsor, along with four loaves of bread from our home districts.

We head back to the train station through the crowd of people. Their clapping is farce, their cheers are heartless, and some of them don't even seem to be paying attention to me. I spot one man with his small dark-haired daughter on his shoulders, too immersed in their own conversation to bother with our small precession.

I'm glad to climb into bed, to escape the darkness of District 12.

The next day we arrive in District 11 and I'm simply stunned. As far as the population and area go, we are very similar to this district, but that's where the similarities end. The buildings here make the ones in District 12 seem grand! During the ceremony, Fleece's family looks up at me, almost as if they expect words about her from me. Why? Pisces was her ally, not me, and I seem to recall her demanding that he kill me. I get introduced to the district's surviving victors then prepare for dinner.

I'm not looking forward to the next district, and when Tina wakes me up to prepare, I whine and ask if we can just skip 10 and move on to 9.

"Not a chance, Dylan," She frowns.

I groan and burrow under my covers, refusing to come out. A few minutes later, Marrian sits down on my bed and pats my back through the thick blankets. "You have to face them, just like we did."

"I don't want to," I mumble.

"It'll be alright." She pulls back the covers and looks at my face. "After this you won't ever have to see them again. Now come on, get up."

'_I__'__m__ still __here,__Dylan.__' _Garret murmurs. Finally. _'__Don__'__t __worry.__I__'__ll__ be __with __you __the __whole __time.__You__ have __to __do __this.__You __murdered __him,__ now__ you__ need__ to __face__ the__ consequences.__'_

Reluctantly, I climb out of bed and head down to breakfast, then back to my compartment to get in my dress.

"It's not exactly cold," Alaina explains when she slips on a cloak. "But it's a little chilly. Besides, it completes the outfit."

I look at myself in the mirror. Long-sleeved, made of deep red satin, skintight until my waist where it flows out a bit, and dangling to my ankles. Thin black boots and a black, velvet cloak complete with a hood and loose sleeves. Alaina starts to draw my hair up and I stop her.

"No, don't."

"Why?"

I had my hair up when I killed Skyler. I don't know why I want his mother to see me with my hair down. It won't make things any less horrible.

"Please?"

Alaina sighs, "Alright, but just this once, Dylan."

I nod and she brushes my hair out and binds it near the bottom with a leather cord.

When I first smell the air of the district, my nose wrinkles in distaste. District 10—livestock and cattle—needless to say, stinks. I suppose the people here are used to the odors of thousands of animals and their poo, but I am _not._ I find that breathing through my mouth helps somewhat.

As the mayor talks, I find my gaze locked onto the platform where the families stand. Shon Stefin stares up at me, his clouded eyes so focused that I'm sure he can see me. His face is oddly blank, his head cocked to one side as if he's listening to something no one else can hear. He's so similar to Skyler that for a brief moment, I honestly believe the boy I killed is there watching me.

I stare out at the crowd as I give the Capitol-prepared speech, giving thanks to the district for their cooperation and stating how admirably their tributes performed (even though Lily died on day one and Skyler all but shook his butt in the Capitol's face) and then, when it's over, I find my gaze on Skyler's mother and brother once more.

'_Say__ it,__'_ Garret orders.

"I didn't know him. Not like I knew some of the others. But he was brave, especially for what he did for Shon."

Shon's head straightens out and his gaze his locks directly on me. _Can__ he _see_ me?_

"And I know, all things considered, I don't really have the right to say this, but I respect him for what he did."

The expression on his mother's face shifts between outrage and gratitude. Shon just continues to stare. I smile up at the mayor who seems baffled. He stammers for a moment then manages to deliver the rest of the speech.

"There, was that so bad?" Marrian asks when I'm safely inside.

"Horrible," I say.

I get to ride on a horse during a small tour of the village and outlying fields, then attend a delicious dinner of steak, pork, and other meats I've never had before. After dinner, we have to wait an hour for them to repair the train so I walk outside of the Justice Building and sit down on the steps in the back.

I'm already getting used to the stink so breathing isn't as painful anymore. I look up at the stars for the first time in a while. I'm definitely very far from home.

The soft sound of light footfalls gets my attention. I turn my head. A small figure is walking towards me. I reach down and slip my hand into the boot where my knife is concealed. "Who's there?" I call softly.

"I am." It's a boy, definitely. Young.

"Who are you?" I ask, though I already know.

Sure enough, Shon stops a few feet from me, his sightless gaze fixed on my face. No, no just to the side of my face. He knows my general location, but that's it.

"You sly dog," I say, a grin breaking over my face. "Your whole helpless blind kid thing during the reaping was just an act. You're not helpless at all."

A smile breaks over Shon's face. "Not completely."

"How do you know where I am?"

"I can hear you." He says. "Your voice, your breathing, the earth under you shifts when you move."

"Impressive."

"Tell me what you meant earlier," Skyler's brother demands suddenly. "About respecting my brother?"

I flinch. "I respected him for volunteering to save you. After I saw the recap of the Games, I respected him for not letting the arena ruin a good friendship with Annalee."

He says nothing.

"I planned to give him a quick end." I tell Shon. "An arrow to the head and he would've died painlessly. But the Gamemakers, I knew they were just waiting for a reason to kill me. They wanted to punish Skyler, remind everyone that the Games were not a place for happiness. I, unknowingly, did their dirty work for them I didn't enjoy a single moment of it, no matter how it may have appeared."

"Is that the truth?"

"Yes." I say. "The night I killed him, I dreamt. It was warm and bright. He was there with all the other tributes who had already died. They were happy. But…but other nights…I see him in my nightmares, accusing me…"

Shon says nothing for a moment, and then he reaches forward and puts his finger on my forehead. He trails his hand along my face, as if to memorize it.

"I will never forgive you for torturing him," he finally says. "But I forgive you for killing him."

"Thank you," I breathe, feeling tears well up.

"Goodnight." With that, Shon turns around and walks away, leaving me alone. When I can no longer see him I run inside to cry.

District 9 takes half a day to reach. It's located in the far northwest of Panem. It's cold up there, I know that for a fact, so the furs and thick fabric of my outfits don't surprise me. There's no tour of the district, but they throw a small rally with games for the children to play. Then it's back down south to District 8.

All the way there I feel like I'm trapped in a box that gets smaller and smaller with each passing minute until I can barely breathe. They bring me some tea to calm my nerves and permit me to curl up in the back of the train against the glass so I can watch the scenery roll by. We draw near to District 8 and they come to collect me.

In my room, Simona, Lynnea, and Cevin do their best to cheer me up, until I start crying. Then they hug me. Normally, I'd freak out being trapped between three bodies, but their arms and gentle pats are comforting. When Alaina arrives with my dress, we're still in our group hug.

"Oh dear," she sighs.

They wipe away the soiled makeup and reapply a fresh coat. The dress is sky blue, just like I requested. Loose elbow-length sleeves, ankle-length flowing skirt, made if glimmering silk with faint silvery embroidery around the hems. "It's beautiful," I breathe, spinning around in the mirror.

Alaina braids my hair down my back then pats my cheek. "Remember, none of these people have a reason to hate you. On the contrary, they owe you gratitude."

"I miss him," I whisper. I love hearing his voice sometimes, but…in a way…it only makes me miss _him_ more.

"I know, Dylan." She pulls me into a hug. "And you can tell them when it's your turn to speak."

"I'll probably cry."

"And that's fine. Other victors have cried, too."

I nod.

I stand in the back of the train as we roll into the district. District 8 is so…bleak. The people live in apartments and small houses, which are crushed and stacked together. Where there aren't houses, there are shops and other businesses. The rest of the place is comprised of factories, a school or two, and two scraggly meadows. No wonder Garret loved colors. There are none here. I'm surrounded by grays, browns, and blacks. Even their hair! Brown, black, and gray. No blondes or reds, no honey-golden or snowy fair.

I look down at my dress again. I will stand out for sure.

_Garret…your home is ugly._

He laughs. _'__I __know!__'_

Well, at least I know he's there. Thank Poseidon I won't be alone for this.

The Justice Building, at least, has some life—warm colors that mark this building as superior to the others. I look around curiously as we make our beeline for the veranda and the stage. The anthem finishes and the mayor welcomes me. The doors open and when I step out, I hear the first real applause since the tour began. The people of District 8, if nothing else, respect me. This is the only true thank you they can ever give.

I smile widely for them all then look down at Garret's family—father, mother, older sister, Maggie, and an aging couple that must be his grandparents. His mother is beautiful, just as he told me, and I do see the tiredness in her eyes, and the grief. She sees me looking at her and she smiles. Maggie's face isn't hateful, but it isn't exactly nice. Her eyes travel up and down my form, taking in every detail. His father gives me a thankful smile.

My gaze flicks to Ellery's family and out of all the members, the one that sticks out is the little toddler. She looks like a younger Ellery, curly brown hair pulled up in a ponytail, and chubby toddler hands clutching a worn, brown teddy bear. _The_ teddy bear Ellery mentioned during her interview, I realize.

I look away before I can cry. The mayor recites the speech he's prepared, congratulating me on my victory. A girl presents me a special plaque that I lock my fingers around. I will never let them take this one to be put on display. This one is M-I-N-E.

"And we thank you for your kindness to our tribute Garret."

Did I just hear him right? I look up at the mayor in surprise. He smiles and nods, signaling my turn to begin. I say the scripted reply in an almost monotone voice and when I'm done, I press my lips together, trying to figure out what to say.

"I didn't really know Ellery." I begin. "And I won't pretend that I did. But from what I saw of her, I know she was a good girl. She reminded me of, well, me when I was her age. I was as sweet as she was. When I was saying my goodbyes before the Games, I told my sister to take care of a…special item of mine, like Ellery told her sister to take care of her toy. I never wanted to be the one responsible for killing her, and I'm glad I wasn't.

"But unlike Ellery, I knew Garret. I didn't know him as long as you, but I wasn't lying about anything I said in during my interview. I did hate him at first. I saw his compassion for Ellery as a weakness, one that would probably be his downfall. Then again, I also thought Jules had enough sense to not kill one of our allies right off the bat. So my first impressions aren't always correct." I shrug. "But, I also wasn't lying I said that he was one of the best friends I've ever had. He was. Two weeks is enough time to make someone your closest friend. He was my lifeline, my link to sanity…and even though it sort of was my fault, his last words were to warn me of the danger. I wish he hadn't had to die…but, if I had the opportunity go back and change the moment where I made him stay behind…I wouldn't take it."

For the first time since I began speaking, there's a murmur from the crowd. Some seem angry, others confused, or just baffled, like Garret's mother. Garret's voice is silent.

"If Garret had lived, things would've happened differently. He might've been killed by Pisces at a later time. He might've met Sawyer in the woods and died like Pisces. Or those muttations could've got him. …Or it might've come down to just the two of us to vie for the crown. The audience would've _loved_ that," I say bitterly. "So it is a good thing that he died the way he did. The audiences will forget him eventually, but I won't. As long as I'm alive, Garret's memory will live on. …I miss him."

I press my lips together and look down, unable to get anything else past the lump in my throat. Everything's silent for a moment as tears well up in my eyes, then the mayor closes out the ceremony and before he can finish the final words, the cheering begins. The people of District 8, they clap, they chant my name, they whistle. The tears finally leak out and trickle down my face.

The same girl comes back with a bouquet of flowers this time. As she hands it to me, I notice a small lump of fabric in the midst the flowers. The little girl smiles at me. "It's yours." she whispers then backs away.

Inside the Justice Building, I gently pull the cloth out from the flowers and start to cry again.

Garret's token.

I drop the flowers and unfold it carefully. Exactly as I remember, the fabric sky blue, the names of his family embroidered into it… and a new one. The color of the thread is nearly identical to the fabric; you wouldn't be able to notice the addition from afar.

_Dylan 4 _

I smile. The token was removed from my pocket upon my removal from the arena to be returned with Garret's body to his family. They must've decided to give it to me.

I get to change into warm, light blue outfit for my tour of one of the factories. It's one of the first tours I'm actually curious about. As they guide me around a factory that produces silk, the guide's voice raised to be heard over the clamor of workers shouting and machines roaring, I try to take in everything I can. This is where Garret grew up and worked. Maybe not this exact factory, but one just like it. I try to imagine coming here everyday and spending hours surrounded by roaring machines, working endlessly to create the textiles of Panem.

I stop once to watch an older woman arranging streams of fabric going along a conveyor belt. She doesn't seem to notice me for a while, then she turns her head and stares at me. I smile shyly, feeling like a kid that's been caught spying. Her eyebrows go up so high that they vanish under her graying-brown bangs. She recognizes me.

Then, ever so slightly, the corners of her lips pull up in a small smile. She turns back to her work, but she glances at me every so often and her hands go considerably slower, like she's silently teaching me what to do. Then, without warning, she plucks a length of fabric off the rack.

"Defective," she says to me. Personally, I see nothing wrong with it.

She looks around carefully, then folds it up messily and hands it to me. I tuck the silk into my pocket.

"Thank you." She mouths.

After the dinner, which I think the chefs here made especially delicious for me, I sit behind the Justice Building again. Alright, I admit it. I'm hoping Maggie will think like Shon and come here. I promised Garret I would hug her for him and, dammit, I'm not leaving this district until I do.

'_Thank __you.__' _Garret says.

Sometime later, the door behind me opens and I hear Tina say, "There you are. Come inside, it's time to go."

I bow my head. "I can't. Not yet. I need to see Maggie Kollin."

Tina is silent for a moment. "You mean Garret's sister? I don't think—"

"Remember in the Games? I made him a promise. That was his final request and he knew it. I _have_ to, Tina. Please."

"…Very well. I will see if it can be arranged. We don't have much time, though. We have a strict schedule to keep to."

"I know." I follow her back inside.

Tina goes to speak to a man wearing a Peacekeeper's uniform and I wait nervously nearby. The man hesitates for a moment, then walks away briskly.

"Well?" I ask.

Tina nods. "He's going to fetch her. She'll meet us at the station."

I change out of the evening gown and into another bright outfit to ward off the cold. Marrian keeps her hand on my shoulder as we make our way to the car and once we're at the train station she does it again. Why? I'm not going to run or anything.

Three Peacekeepers stand near the door to the train. Green eyes wide with nervousness, Maggie stands between two of them. All the fear drains from her eyes when she spots me and something akin to wariness replaces it.

'_Maggie,__'_ Garret whispers.

I stand a few feet away from her for a moment. She looks like Garret, she really does. Their noses are the same shape, they have the same cheekbones, and their eyes are the exact same shade. Her hair is a bit lighter and she's a few inches smaller than he was—a female version of my ally.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I take a few steps forward and pull her into a hug. "From Garret." I say quietly.

She hugs me back for a second and I feel her body shudder. Tears leak out of my eyes, too. "I didn't think you remembered."

"'Course I did." I lean away but I keep my hand on her shoulder. Part of me wants to tell her that I still hear his voice. But then what will she think of me? And Marrian who waits nearby has no idea. No one can know. Ever. So, instead, I ask something that I've wondered since Garret made his request. "Why did he ask me to…?"

Maggie smiles at me and reaches up to wipe away her tears. "It was when we were saying goodbye. He was telling us he might win. He was saying he might have a chance. I told him I didn't want him to come back if he'd come back a killer. I didn't mean to be mean, I just didn't want him turned into some horrible murderer—" She stops, remembering she _is_ talking to a horrible murderer. "That's why he wouldn't let me hug him."

I nod. "My brother…he's been very cold to me since I got home. And now he blames me for my little brother and sister being murdered."

"What?" Maggie squeaks at the same time Marrian suddenly barks out, "Dylan, it's time to go."

I turn around, ready to complain, and ask for more time, but then I see the warning look on her face and I close my mouth. I've said too much in front of the Peacekeepers.

The girl from District 8 seems to understand that this is a subject that is better discussed away from listening ears. Especially ears attached to people in the government. "Goodbye, Dylan," Maggie says. "And thank you."

"Bye."

I sit down in front of the large window in the back of the train and wave again as we roll away. She waves back. I'll never see her again, I'm sure, but I'll always count her as a friend. Or, at least, an ally.

District 7 is it's own kind of awful. Wearing beautiful clothes and completely sane, I have to look into the eyes of Sawyer's family. I don't get as personal about her, but I do my damndest to make sure her family—a mother and father, a little brother, and a little sister—understands that she was a friend and I hated having to kill Sawyer, even if she was insane and trying to kill me.

"It might sound cruel, but she's better off dead." I say near the end. "You saw her on the television but I was _there_. Sawyer was gone. I was fighting a madwoman. Even if she came home, she wouldn't have been the girl you remember."

I meet Blight and Ulf, the two living victors during my tour of the district. I don't go outside after dinner.

The other districts seem to pass by in a blur. I just want it to be over. I'm sick of looking in the eyes of the tribute's families. Even if I didn't kill their kids, I swear they're still accusing me. I'm here, I'm alive, and their sons and daughters, their brothers and sisters, are not.

I read the scripted responses. Look at their territory. Eat their food. Leave them behind.

It's my meetings with the other victors that keep me from sinking into some sort of depression, even with Garret murmuring to me more and more often. The morphlings from 6 seem somewhat fascinated by me, especially when I shyly mention I can draw. Izibella Wiska actually takes my hand and shows me how to draw a rainbow. I show her how to draw scales on a fish because she just can't get the curves right. In District 5, a drunken victor called Woof—I've never seen his Games and I'm hoping 'Woof' is actually just a nickname—offers me a pint of something alcoholic, which I accept because I'm in yet another district where I killed at least one of the kids and the citizens are not very welcoming. Of course, I never get to drink it because Reno snatches it away and scolds Woof for trying to corrupt "the newbie" again. Beril then snatches the bottle from him and shares it with me later. In District 3, I get to meet Beetee, the victor who won by electrocuting everyone else. Reno calls him Volts. He asks me how we run electricity safely around the district with all the water. I'm sure he already knows the answer, but I do my best to explain how it works. In District 2, a victor named Lyme thanks me for avenging their tributes' murders. In District 1 they are less friendly, but they do give me a beautiful necklace as I tour the area where they deal with what they call _precious __stones_. I think the name is stupid—rocks are rocks—until I see the jewels of every shape and color, glimmering and sparkling in the light.

"I'll give it to my mother." I tell the young man (not a victor) who presented the necklace to me in one of the jewelry shops. "She loves looking at shiny jewels but she's never had any of her own."

The man seems pleased.

"Did Silk work here?" I ask curiously.

"Er, no." the man says. "Children aren't permitted to fashion jewelry. There are too many tools they can't handle until they're older."

And Silk would've been training once she reached that age.

Finally, we arrive in the Capitol for one final party at the president's mansion. Everyone who's anyone in the Capitol will be there. They will all want to shake my hand and have my picture taken. There will be enough food to feed everyone in Panem to be eaten by me and a bunch of spoiled brats.

I just want it to be over. I just want to go _home_.


	20. Mentor

**So, I forgot I had this chapter ready. Whoops. Oh well, here we go.**

**This chapter features: Reapings. Opening Ceremonies. And one horrid costume.  
**

* * *

Reaping day again. This time it's for the 70th Hunger Games.

_Has__ it __really__ been __a __year_? I think as I pull on my clothes.

As a victor, I have to sit up on stage during the reaping. Normally, new victors in my district tend to avoid the Capitol for a few years if they can after their Games, but I promised Annie I would be there for her. She'll need me. I don't know who the male victor is. I should ask. Still, I'm rooting for Annie.

Three sharp raps bounce off my front door. I push the red shirt down over my stomach and shift aside the curtains and peer out the window. "Who's down there?"

"It's a little more polite to answer the door, you know."

"Well, Finnick, I'm currently in the process of getting dressed and you do not get to see the in-between stage."

Finnick steps off the porch and I can see him properly. He's got on a nice sleeveless white shirt, showing off his muscles as usual, and khaki long shorts plus some split-toe sandals. Did he forget that it's _the __day_? Of course he didn't. But he looks oddly laid back considering twenty-three kids are being shipped to their deaths today.

He raises one eyebrow. "And what makes you think I want to?"

"Hey! What are you trying to say?" I frown playfully.

"Oh nothing, nothing at all." He waves his hand. "I'm supposed to escort you to the Reaping."

I frown. Like I need help getting to the Justice Building. I grew up in Crest for sea's sake. "Says who?"

"Mags," Finnick says.

"Fine," I say. "I'll be down in a minute."

"So…should I order breakfast while I wait?"

"Oh go jump a cliff, Finnick."

"What? And risk messing up this pretty face? Criminal."

"Hardly." I snort.

Finnick sticks his tongue out at me.

"Love you too, Finnick," I tease. "Oh, by the way, do you know who the boy tribute is this year?"

"No." he says. "I don't train them yet. Why?"

"Just wondering. I already know the girl."

"Really?" He raises one eyebrow. "Who is it?"

"Annie Cresta. She's got long dark hair—we trained together." I say. "She's a killer with swords. You know that's the only reason I'm going today."

The color drains completely from his face. Something in his expression changes and it takes me a moment to identify the emotion because it is something I have not seen on his face in a long, long time. Fear.

"Is that so?" he asks in a tight voice.

"Yup." I say, confused by his reaction. I pull my head back through the window. "Be right down." The moment I'm out of view, I let my confusion show. I didn't think he even knew Annie existed. Now he's freaking out that she's the tribute this year. Well then.

I pull on black pants and slip my belt with the sheath around my waist. I pull my token out of the drawer beside my bed and study it for a moment. The woven strands, the silver circular swirl hanging from the end. I don't feel right going without the token I inherited from Rilee, my older sister, murdered in the arena.

"Hey, Rilee? If you'd won…do you think they might've tried to kill me for something you did?" I whisper. I give my head a quick shake, fasten the necklace around my neck, slip on some sandals, and hurry downstairs.

Outside, Finnick waits in the exact same spot I left him, his head still staring up at my window. _Oh__ crabs,__ is__ he __in__ shock__ or__ something?_

"Finnick?" I say quietly. When that gets no response I shout. "FINNICK!"

He yelps in alarm and swings around to face me with his hands in front of him like he's ready to hit me. I whip out my knife and hold it with the blade pointed at him. "Easy there, Finnick," I say warningly. "They need both our pretty faces on that stage in a few minutes. Don't want to give them blood too soon, do we?"

He stares at me completely baffled for a few a seconds, then relaxes, lowering his arms, and shakes his head. "No, we don't."

I stow my knife and put my hands on my hips. "What's with you? One minute you're saying I am not worthy of thy gaze and the next you look like you just woke up in the middle of the arena again."

He grimaces. "It's nothing. …Really, nothing. Come on, let's go."

Most of my friends have passed the tribute age and they're safely in the adult sections. I don't see them as we make our way through the crowds to the front. The Peacekeepers make people stand aside since Finnick and I need not sign in. Some people nod to us, others give us quick pats on the shoulder. It feels strange getting such respect from these people. But I suppose it makes sense. I am a lifeline for the tributes.

I sit in the chair closest to the mayor since I am the newest tribute. And on his other side is—

"Dylan!" Tina springs from her chair and swoops down to hug me. "Oh hello!"

"Hey, Tina," I say, patting her on the back.

"Are you coming this year?"

I nod. "Mhmm."

"Couldn't stay away for long, could you?"

"Something like that."

"Miss Sheen," Mayor Baylog clears his throat. "We're about to begin."

Tina nods and returns to her seat. Mayor Baylog smiles at me.

"The view is a bit different from up here, isn't it?"

I nod and stare out at the populace of District 4. Most of the square in front of the stage is reserved for the teenagers and their families, but the rest of the people spill down the streets and some even stand on the rooftops and balconies. There is plenty of chatter, everyone seems relatively at ease. For a moment, I wonder how the people in Garret's district are. The old woman who gave me silk—is her grandchild standing among the possible tributes, waiting to know their fate? How are the people, knowing two children are going to certain death?

The clock tolls out the hour and hush falls over the crowd as Mayor Baylog stands up. The most exciting part of the Reapings for most is seeing who will represent us.

He welcomes everyone then goes right into the history of Panem. To entertain myself, I watch the other victors. Most of them seem just as bored as I am, Mags is even braiding some strands her long gray hair. Nothing interesting up here so I turn my attention to the crowd. Some older kids are talking to each other in whispers, the twelve-year-olds fidget restlessly.

Finally he gets around to introducing us in order of our victory. Mags is the oldest victor alive and she stands first. Finnick stands then Baylog says, "And last year's victor, Dylan Syle."

For some reason, having the title 'last year's victor" bugs me, but I decide to just let it go. I stand up and the crowd claps for me then we sit down. Tina takes the stage, bids everyone welcome and I roll my eyes.

She plunges her hand into the boy's bowl first and pulls out a slip of paper. She steps lightly around the papers that fell out and carries the name to the podium. She smoothes out the paper and calls a boy named Ronan Flit.

A well-toned fellow with tan skin and hair the color of rust steps out of the sixteen-year-old pen. Judging from the undisguised excitement on his face, I guess he's a trainee. He has to know that there's already a volunteer, though. Maybe he's hoping he'll be one of the few not volunteered for.

"It's Rahn-an, actually." The boy corrects her.

"Ah, well, Ronan Flit." Tina announces with the correct pronunciation, gesturing to the hopeful boy and people clap, but it's halfhearted. They're just waiting for the volunteer. "Are there any volunteers?"

"Here." A seventeen-year-old boy raises his hand. The kids let him out and Ronan Flit looks a bit glum. I glance down at the other victors. Reno and Zaire are nodding approvingly. Ronan goes down, looking dejected, and the volunteer steps up and declares his name to be Seaborne Kip.

I frown. I remember Seaborne. He was a little brat in his early days, but I see none of that boy in the young man standing on stage. Always thought his name was dumb, though. The rumor is that he was conceived on a fishing boat, hence the name, but I never asked him.

"Zaria Gail!" Tina reads the name out and another sixteen-year-old makes her way to the stage. She's very tiny and frail. Her legs look they'll break if any more weight is added to their charge. A trainee she is _not._

"Hello, dear," Tina says when Zaria arrives.

"Hi." Contrary to her appearance, Zaria's voice is firm.

"Are there any volunteers?" Tina asks.

Zaria crosses her fingers and I find Annie in the crowd as she volunteers. Zaria flees the stage gratefully and my friend mounts it proudly.

"Well, young lady, what's your name?" Tina asks.

"Annie Cresta."

"No," Finnick moans quietly. I glance at him. A couple other victors do. He stares mournfully at Annie then he puts his head in his hands.

_What in the world?_

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you your tributes this year! Seaborne Kip and Annie Cresta," Tina says and the audience cheers.

Once the tributes have been led away and the audience is dispersing, one of the oldest victors, a stocky graying-blonde named Beatrice, calls all of us over. They're fifteen of us alive: Mags, Greg, Lillian, Arco, Cora, Beatrice, Zaire, Henry, Marrian, Reno, Breeze, Twyla, Beril, Finnick, and myself.

"Alright, so I just want to clarify this." She says in her surprisingly light voice. "This year Zaire, Beril, Lillian, Mags, Finnick, and Dylan will be the ones accompanying the tributes?"

"Correct." Zaire says. "And this is Dylan's training year."

"So soon, little one?" Greg asks. He's like a grandfather, the victor of the 15th Hunger Games, to all of the trainees and the victors. He is the oldest living male victor of Panem.

"Annie," I say. "I promised Annie. I like to keep my promises."

As we get in the car that will drive us to the station, Finnick says in a harsh whisper, "You _knew_?"

I nod. "I've known for months and months. I didn't know it mattered to you. Speaking of which, why _do _you care what happens to Annie Cresta?"

"I…" Finnick takes a deep breath and lets it out.

"Finnick?" I murmur.

He stares out the window.

The cameras hound us the moment we arrive. They shout questions. Are we hopeful about our tributes this year? Am I excited to go back to the Capitol? Any secrets we care to share about our newest batch? I look right into the nearest camera. "I have no doubt we will have another victory this year."

There are two cars set aside for the victors and the Capitol attendant. Each victor gets their own room that's as glamorous as the rooms for the tributes, if not a little more. Mine has a bed, a bathroom, and a dozen shelves and drawers full of clothes fit for me. I'm going through my drawers to see what my options are when there's a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Finnick enters looking looks miserable; his reddish blonde hair hangs in his face, and I can tell right away he needs a hug. So the moment he closes the door, I walk over and slip my arms around his torso.

"Dylan?"

I look up and smile. "You looked like you needed a hug."

He huffs a laugh then decides he really does need a hug because he slips his arms around me. If anyone saw this, we'd never hear the end of it. I pull away and hit the lock on my door. Better safe than sorry. I really hope no one saw him come in, though.

"What's wrong, Finnick?" I ask, looking up at him. Finnick stares right back with a whipped-puppy expression and I feel like I am responsible for the whipping. I gently take him by the hand and lead him to my bed and I sit down on the end. Despite the current situation, he wags his eyebrows at me.

"Yeah. Dream on, Fin." I punch his side.

He laughs and sits down next to me. "I know, I know. I won't ever, Dylan."

"Uh huh. Good. Now spill."

Finnick sighs, his good mood gone. "Alright, it's Annie."

"Yeah, about that," I mutter.

"What?"

I take a deep breath. I promised I'd never tell, but all things considering…I guess it won't matter much longer. She'll be in the arena in a week and then she'll either be coming out dead or coming out a victor and, well, at least victors aren't allowed to kill each other.

"Annie Cresta has had a crush on you since we were twelve." I say before I can talk myself out of it. Finnick's eyes go as round as saucers. "She was terrified when you volunteered for the Games, but she was your biggest fan. She never went into a room that didn't have a television on. She slept out in the common room on the couch, staring at the screen until her eyes wouldn't stay open anymore. Whenever you were hurt, she cried the most. When you won, she cheered the loudest. She was on the platform when you arrived home. She donated money to your fund. She always tried to perform her best when you were observing us train. She'd smile at you whenever she saw you and you never looked twice. She's hoping that if she wins the Games you will finally notice her."

"What?" Finnick asks, aghast.

I nod, on a roll now. "When you came home as a victor, the way she talked about you, it was like you were a gift from Poseidon. You became the flirt of the Capitol and she defended you, saying it was just a phase. That you were young and having fun, just like teenagers should. When you started having your Capitol flings it about broke her heart. No scratch that. It _did_ break her heart. I hugged her while she cried. Damn you to the Locker, Finnick."

"She…" A strange smile is creep onto his face. "You're kidding me…."

"Do. I. _Look_. Like. I'm. Kidding?" I growl.

Finnick laughs and covers his mouth with his hand, closing his eyes.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I ask.

"Annie…actually…likes me?"

"Nah. I just told you all that for no reason," I say sarcastically.

Finnick laughs again. "You know…I've had a crush on her since I was fifteen."

"No way." I lean away from him.

"It's true. She… I was practicing in the gym one day. Just to stay in shape. And she snuck up behind me and when I spun around she was right there and she blocked my swing with her sword. We had a duel. She beat me." He smiles, remembering. "And afterwards she said, 'Not bad, for a victor.' Then she winked at me and headed back to her group. After that moment, well, she had me hook, line, and sinker."

"No kidding," I mutter. "And you never thought to…mention this to her? It's been three years, boy!"

"I was…I wanted to. But then when I turned sixteen they…they already knew I liked her…but if they knew I had real _feelings_… I was trying to protect her."

"Protect her from whom?"

"Why are we protecting Lana?" He asks.

"Because the Capitol might try to kill her to punish me."

Finnick stares at me pointedly.

My eyes widen. "_What_? Why would they want to hurt Annie?"

"They said if I didn't do what they said, they'd kill her."

"Why? What do they want from you?"

"Sometimes they…try to sell the younger, prettier victors."

"_Sell?_" I shriek.

"Shh!" He hisses, glancing at the door.

"Sorry." I whisper. "Sell?"

"Every time I go to the Capitol, I can be given to one of the citizens for a night. For a nice price, of course."

"Oh my god." I breathe. "That's…that's… that's _why_? Because you're bought? That's just, just…"

I have no words for it. Finnick nods grimly. "I have no choice. They want me there every year. There is such a high demand for me. I have to pretend, act like I have no problem with it and it's all freewill. …But there are positives to it."

"I don't even want to know." I say quickly.

"Actually, you do. They give me gifts, they offer me money, you know, so they don't feel so horrible about it, but I don't take the money. I take their secrets."

"Ugh, Finnick, please don't—"

"No, I mean secrets that they know!" he says quickly. "Usually only really important and wealthy people can afford me. The rich and powerful always have rich and powerful secrets. Things they know but shouldn't. Scandals. Corruption in the government. Skeletons in the closet. Buried treasure. Things like that. Good stuff for blackmail."

"But, still. They _buy_ you?"

"And they might make you do it, too."

I shake my head quickly. "No. _No._ I won't do it."

"Then they'll kill the rest of your family, your friends. Every time you deny them, they'll kill another person you love."

"Well then I'm going to give myself some ugly scars when we get home so _no__one_ will want me." I vow. "Remind me, please. Maybe you should do that, too."

"They'll just remove them from me." Finnick sighs, "I can't get out of this."

"And…if you ever…said no…?"

"They would have killed Annie within days, if not hours. Hell, maybe you would've been next."

"But if she wins—"

"We might have a shot then, but I still don't know. They might want her, too." As soon as the words leave his mouth, his eyes widen in horror and his knuckles turn white.

"Easy, Finnick." I caution, placing my hand on his shoulder. A low, growling noise rumbles in his throat, like an angry dog.

"Hey, now, this ain't the time to be losing it. Annie and Seaborne will be here soon. You can't let them see this side of victory, not yet."

His body sags and his head slumps against his chest. "I can't handle this."

"It's alright." I put my arms around him soothingly and rub my hand up and down his back. "Just…just make sure everyone who buys you can spare a dime for Annie, too. When we bring her home you two can work it out. Other victors get married."

"But I'm not like the others."

"It'll work out, I know it will," I promise and press a kiss to his cheek.

"You really aren't helping kill those rumors, you know." He smiles at me.

"You mean the ones that say we're _secret__lovers_?" I wiggle my fingers.

"Yeah, those."

"Well, if you keep sneaking into my room like this, then things might get awkward soon."

And Finnick laughs.

Later in the dining car, the six victors wait patiently for Tina to arrive with the tributes. The victors, in order of victory, are Mags, Lillian, Zaire, Beril, Finnick, and finally me.

Lillian is one victor I've never been particularly close to. She's a redhead like me, but she's around sixty so her hair is streaked with white. Small and thin, wide green eyes that make her seem innocent even now; she was overlooked during her Hunger Games by most until they were drawing their final breaths with her sword in their stomachs.

Against the wall, at attention, is Drop the Avox. His eyes flick to the door every time it opens, probably hoping to see his old friend, Reno, walking through the door. I wish I could tell him that Reno didn't come this year, but he'll figure it out soon enough. The dark-haired Avox was affectionately dubbed 'Drop' by Reno sometime after he became a victor. Drop was Reno's main Avox during his tribute year and they'd become secret friends. However, Reno had never learned Drop's real name since Drop couldn't talk and neither man wanted to risk punishment for him and Avoxes can be punished for socializing. So, Reno decided to refer to him as Drop simply because he has to drop something every time he wants to shake Drop's hand or slip him a letter or whatnot.

The door opens and Tina walks in. "And here's the dining car. We'll have breakfast in here tomorrow, as well."

Behind her I see both Seaborne and Annie. Odd. She brought Pisces and me separately last year.

_Pisces._ I sigh softly. Sometimes I wish I heard Pisces' voice in my head. It's just Garret, though, and not as often as before. I've been keeping myself busy, out of trouble, and around friends.

Annie beams at me. "Hi, Dylan!" She's already taken full advantage of her Capitol-made wardrobe. She's wearing a yellow Capitol-made sundress with light green designs. Her brown hair is swept up into a ponytail.

"Hey, Annie. You know, this isn't a formal event. You didn't have to change."

Annie shrugs and takes the seat next to me—across from Finnick. Seaborne sits down next to her. He's still in his clothes from earlier, but his sandy brown hair is combed out of his face.

"Hi, Finnick." Annie says with a sweet smile at him.

Finnick smiles weakly at her then looks away. Annie's face falls a bit but her glum mood doesn't last long. Tina announces it's time for dinner and the attendants begin the procession of food. Soon the room is full of the scents of our delicious meal. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, yeast rolls, ham, thick stew, and cooked vegetables, sparkling wine to drink, chocolate cake for dessert.

"Hey, easy on that," Lillian scolds Seaborne. I peek over. The boy tribute is slurping down the stew like there's no tomorrow.

He licks his lips. "Why?"

"That's some rich food, boy," she says. "Your body ain't used to it. You'll get sick."

Annie scoots her chair away and I giggle. She grins at me and Seaborne pouts.

"But it's delicious."

"And you'll have a full week to enjoy it. But hey, what do I know? I'm just an old victor who's been coming to the Capitol for over half a century. I don't know anything about their food."

Seaborne blushes a bit and he sets the stew aside, resigning himself to munching on the rolls. Annie takes a big bite of ham and receives a similar reprimand.

That's another thing about Lillian. She's one of those victors who lost her child to the Hunger Games. So she's attempted to fill the hole in her heart by making us—the trainees, tributes, trainers, and victors—her kids. So, we have Greg as a granddaddy, Mags as a grandma, Lillian as a mommy, and probably Arco as the daddy, then the rest of us are the aunts, uncles, and kids of our big _happy_—if not completely deranged—family.

After dinner we move to the lounge to watch the recaps of the Reapings. I sit on the couch with Annie and Seaborne and I decide to start being a teacher.

"Annie, do you remember what they taught us about this?" I ask.

Annie gives me a funny look. "Yeah. Watch everything and everyone to see how they react. Calmness is a sign of knowledge and bravery, but cowardice can be, too—"

"Why, Seaborne?"

"Because they could be putting on a mask," Seaborne says then glances to see if he was right.

I smile, "Yep."

"Don't be my mentor, Dylan," Annie whispers. "Be my friend."

"I can't be just one," I reply softly. "Not now. You're the only reason I came. Trust me. I would've been happy back home."

"Why?"

I frown. "If you win, you'll understand."

Annie looks like she wants to say more but then the TV comes on and we're launched into an endless stream of faces, tears, broken hearts, and over exuberant Capitol hosts. The Careers from District 1 are named Shimmer and Bronze and the tributes from 2 are named Gina and San. In District 7, a small girl with brown hair and green eyes is chosen and I feel a pang of sadness. I recognize her from a brief glance during the Tour. District 8's tributes are two mousy haired kids under sixteen and I sigh in relief. This was Maggie's last reaping. She's safe.

Once Annie and Seaborne are in their rooms for the night, the victors have a talk.

"Dylan, what do you think about Shimmer and Bronze?" Zaire asks.

"Bronze looks too handsome. He'll be trouble for Seaborne."

"Agreed," Finnick says. "But Shimmer is nowhere near as pretty as Annie. None of them are."

"Finnick, we all know your opinion on Annie—" Beril says.

"_What_? Am I the _only_ one who didn't?" I slap Finnick's arm. "She's my friend!"

"Of course we know," Beril smiles. "It's our job to watch and observe our trainees. That and Annie has been under the same protection you wanted for Lana since they first threatened her life. Only, we've been more successful with her."

"Oh," I whisper.

"Anyway," Beril looks at Finnick. "Your opinion is somewhat biased." Finnick snorts at this. "The girl from District 9 is quite a beautiful young lady."

It's true. Her name was Rosalinda. She had long black hair and cinnamon skin, beautiful, symmetrical features, big eyes, decently-sized chest, long legs… Hell, none of the other girls have anything on her.

"She is. She'll win favor in the Capitol, no doubt. Unless she has some actual skill that can be used in the alliance, it might be in Annie's best interests to kill Rosalinda quickly." Lillian says.

That whole Mama Bird thing Lillian has? It only applies to _our_ tributes.

When we arrive in the Capitol the next day and pull into the station at the Training Center, Annie gets called over by Ajax Shway, the same reporter who I spoke to for a moment last year. As I recall, Finnick used that opportunity to give Pisces and I some crowd favor. I decide to do the same for Annie. As a mentor, I'm not supposed to favor one tribute over the other, but I don't really know Seaborne and Annie is an old friend.

"Hey, Ajax!" I say, cutting off what Annie was saying. "Remember me?"

"Hello, Dylan Syle." Ajax still has plum-purple hair, it must be his trademark. "Welcome back to the Capitol."

"Glad to be back," I lie. "I hope you're being nice to Annie here."

Ajax smiles, "Of course. She was just telling me that she's excited to be here."

I look at Annie. "Well, I did tell her it was amazing here. Hey Ajax, here's an exclusive tidbit for you. Annie is another old friend of mine, just like Pisces and Finnick. We were in the same class. We stayed up late talking a lot about, you know, girl stuff." This is not true. It was the others that usually engaged Annie in girl talk. I usually listened, but what the audience doesn't know won't hurt them. "I think she'll be the winner this time."

Annie beams at me. "Thanks, Dylan."

"Hey, now what kind of friend would I be if I didn't have confidence in you?"

"A bad one."

"Exactly and a bad friend I am not!"

"Alright, alright! The fun's over." Lillian swoops down on us. "Go on, shoo!" she waves her hands at the cameras. "All of you! Get going! Annie needs to get into her prep team!"

Annie and Seaborne get shuffled away and I realize I'm out of familiar territory now. I have _no_ idea what the victors did while we spent hours being prepped.

"Alright, Dylan, time for your training to begin." Finnick says. "While our tributes are being prepared, we head over to the Training Center claim our rooms, change if we want to, and have lunch with the other mentors."

"Really?"

"What did you think we did?"

"I, uh…well…I never really thought about it."

Finnick smiles. "Me neither."

We ride in a brightly colored, but otherwise unremarkable, car through the streets. At first I was afraid that we would stand out and be mobbed by fans, but as it turned out, our car blended in perfectly with the others. The people on the sidewalks don't look twice. I think Finnick is relieved.

I remember our conversation from yesterday and I feel sick to my stomach. I want to do something to help him, but there isn't anything I can do. I'm helpless and I hate it. And Annie…poor Annie…she would be hurt beyond belief when/if she found out. She'll feel even more helpless than I do.

On the fourth floor of Training Center I claim a room and program the closet for stuff of my size. I take full advantage of all the bathroom's special features. All the soaps ands scents, the electrical current that makes my hair silky smooth—I missed all of this.

I change into a light blue tunic with long mesh sleeves and skintight denim pants. I slip on some sandals then head down to the dining room. The others are already there.

"You look nice," Beril says approvingly. She's wearing a dark crimson shirt and black pants and shoes that match her black hair perfectly. I've never seen her wear bright colors and I don't think I ever will.

"Thank you," I say.

"Alright, well let's go. We're eating in the dining room."

"Where is that?"

"It's on the lobby floor." Lillian says. "And don't worry; the victors will be just as civil now as they were on the tour, if not more. They have new tributes to worry about and you're one of us now."

"We don't hold onto these things," Mags says, patting my arm. Then she glances over at Finnick. "No matter what."

I don't understand what she means until we're in the dining room with the other victors. If Annie dies and her killer becomes victor, Finnick will have to let the past go, even if he wants to murder the kid.

Districts 1, 2, and 4 can afford to send only a portion of their victors—usually around six—but all the other districts have to send all their victors to have enough. Sixty-nine victors, sixty-two still alive, and forty-five of them are in the same room. I remember some of them from the Tour, but when we're seated at a large table, I get introduced to everyone again.

From District 1: Gloss, Cashmere, Opal, Jade, Emerald, and Garnet.

District 2: Lyme, Errol, Enobaria, Jame, Lia, Falcon, and Brutus.

District 3: Fez, Wiress, Beetee.

District 5: Elodie, Jody, Nellan, and Mabel.

District 6: Izibella, Hope, and Royce.

District 7: Blight, Rosa, and Ulf.

District 8: Woof, Cecelia, and Kal, Lucie.

District 9: Karu.

District 10: Kris, Ian, and Mae.

District 11: Chaff, Seeder, Mira, and Joy

District 12: Haymitch.

I shake each hand, try to remember each name for each face, and whether or not there was kindness in their eyes. I know Mags says victors aren't supposed to hold onto grudges, but I think Gloss doesn't like the fact I killed Jules and Ian doesn't seem too happy to see me either. I make a point to sit as far from them as possible.

Feeling like a puppy, I choose the seat next to Finnick and Izibella Wiska, the morphling from 6 who took a liking to me during the Victory Tour.

She smiles at me, her sunken eyes unusually bright. "I…I think I figured out how to make fish scales."

"Really?" I sit up straighter. "Will you show me?"

"I need paper," She says as she pulls a pen out of her pocket.

I lean across the table and steal the napkin from Beril who's busy talking to Karu. Izibella unfolds it and then carefully glides the pen across the fabric. She doesn't look up from her work until it's done. Not when Beril realizes her napkin has been jacked, nor when then serve us food, and not even when a _very_drunk Haymitch proposes a toast to the upcoming "mindless, bloody murder" to which some of the others salute.

"Here," she slides the napkin towards me. I swallow the food in my mouth then look down at the latest masterpiece of Izibella Wiska.

It's me. Well, it's partially me, anyway. My upper half is there but below my belly button is a long, slender fish tail. The many small scales overlap just enough that they look real.

"Your people have a legend about people with fish tails who live beneath the sea," Izibella says.

"Merfolk," I say.

"You make a pretty merfolk."

"Mer_maid_," I correct her, smiling.

"You make a pretty mermaid," Izibella says.

I smile again, wider this time. "Thank you. Can I keep this?"

"Yes. You just better hide it or they'll try to wash my drawing away. Stick it in your drawer." She winks conspiratorially.

But for now, I hide it in my pocket.

"You better eat," I say, gesturing to the bounty of food in front of her. Izibella stares at it blankly for a long moment.

"There is nothing I would not give…to take this feast back to my people," she murmurs, almost to herself. Then she gives me a smile that does not reach her eyes and leaves the table without taking a single crumb with her.

I do not see Izibella for the rest of the day. Not even that night after the Opening Ceremonies when the tributes are being carted into the Training Center. We watch it all live on a mega screen. Our tributes don't make a big SPLASH but they receive enough cheering.

Annie is a mermaid, ironically enough. A very skintight skirt and the way the hem was designed and draped, it made her appear to have fins. Her hands had the webbing in them like mine did and a shirt that looked like it was made from seashells and sea grass. I hope Alaina was trying to make her outshine Rosalinda.

I think Daemon dressed Seaborne as…as…well, actually, I have no idea what his whacked up stylist was going for. From what I can tell, he's supposed to have a fish tail below his waist. His chest is bare and his hair has been poofed out and sprayed with golden brown, almost like the mane of a lion.

"What exactly is Seaborne?" I whisper to Finnick as they're climbing out of the chariot. "…Finnick? Hey!" I tap his shoulder.

Finnick jumps. "Hmm? What?"

"What is Seaborne dressed up as?"

"Oh he's a…I don't know. Hmm." He stares at our tribute for a long minute then snaps his fingers. "A sea lion."

"…_That__ is__ not __what __a __sea __lion __looks __like!_" I half-shriek, half-hiss.

"Well I guess Daemon doesn't know that. It's funny, though."

"Oh Poseidon help us." I shake my head. "That's just pathetic."

"Well?" Seaborne has reached us. "Do I not look like a clam-shucking idiot?"

"It's not your fault." Finnick assures him. "But that reminds me. Did you hear the prank we pulled on Tina last year…?"

I ride upstairs with Annie and the tributes from 8. The latter two look up at me with the most curious expressions. I wonder what the boy thinks of me, the victor who showed such loyalty to his predecessor, now standing dutifully beside her own tribute whose survival requires his death. I wonder what he expects from me.

When we step onto the fourth floor I am relieved. The door closes and the two tributes from District 8 are gone. I can breathe again.

"Whew," Annie says when we enter the sitting room. "Tension was thicker than fog in there."

"Tell me about it." I collapse into the nearest chair. "Do you think they want something from me?"

"Well, you did display quite a bit of friendliness for their District." Annie says. "I suppose you're going to tell me to be nice to them?"

"Well, you should be. Garret could fight, remember? He hid it until the Cornucopia."

"He was a rare case." Annie sits down across from me and a grin breaks across her face. "Very rare. I've never seen someone get that close to you that quickly in a long time. You didn't really bond with our Finals class for two months."

I shrug. "Things were different then. The arena changes the way you comprehend things. You'll see soon enough."

"I suppose so," Annie says.

I resist the urge to snarl at her for brushing off my words. _You__'__ll__see,__Annie.__You__'__ll__see_. I don't look at her for the rest of the evening. I want to retire to my room after the recaps, but I'm held back for another mentor meeting.

"Well, Dylan?" Beril asks.

"Well what?" I ask dumbly.

"How well do you think they did?"

"Alaina outdid herself again with Annie, but Daemon was intoxicated when he designed Seaborne's getup."

They laugh and Beril says, "Agreed."

"The Opening Ceremonies are about attracting sponsors based on beauty," I say glumly. "San may not be much, but with that makeup on he was eye candy. Seaborne as a bad pun wasn't any competition. Rosalinda pretty much stole the spotlight for all the girls, but I think Annie looked prettier than Shimmer and Gina."

"So we're all in agreement that things could've gone better." Lillian summarizes. "But we have no more time to dwell on it. Any strategy suggestions for their training, Dylan?"

"I think they should keep their weapon of choices a secret from everyone but the Gamemakers."

"Why?"

"So they'll have a secret skill, of course! Knives are my weapons, but I'm proficient with a bow. If it were me, I'd only show my archery skills to the others and save my knives for the Gamemakers. Annie is a swordfighter, we've all seen it, but if a stranger were to look at her, they would have no idea. She looks like a knife thrower, like me. She's got the lithe build a lot of long-distance fighters do. Her second weapon, last I checked, was a whip."

"Still is," Beril confirms.

"They have those down in the gym. Not a very popular station, that one, since whips are almost never provided. But she could pretend that's her best weapon then shock everybody in the arena by being a kickass swordfighter," I say, proud of my idea. "And Seaborne could do the same. By the way, what are his best weapons?"

"A spear and mace," Zaire says.

"Then he should practice with maces," I say. "Well…what do you think?"

"I like it," Mags says.

"It's a good idea." Finnick says. "Not original, but it's worked before."

"At this point, Finnick, no one's strategies are original." Lillian says.

"Well, still."

* * *

**And now we'll start to see things differently...since Dylan is a victor. I've had fun designing some day-to-day things of the Capitol...**


	21. Sol

**Well, due to my forgetfulness...this chapter is two weeks late. My bad. Plus I've been working on Daughter of the Pack.**

**Oh well. Please enjoy this never before seen peek into the Capitol :D**

* * *

While our tributes are training, the victors spend the day courting sponsors, exploring the shopping district around the Training Center, giving interviews, or hanging out in the Training Center. As long as someone is there to watch the tributes when they arrive back from training at 6pm, we have full days of things to do.

Finnick has an…appointment to head to and he gives me a glum look as we part ways on the street. He goes to his transportation vehicle and I tentatively make my way towards the stores.

I've never been the shopping type and I didn't know we were allowed to…roam like this so I didn't think to bring money with me, but I've got a square piece of plastic in my pocket that they call a "credit card" and apparently each victor gets one every visit. It's what most of the Capitol residents use to buy stuff. They're too good for coins and paper money, I guess. Brats. Anyway, our cards of credit have no spending limit. We can buy what we want, do what we want, go where we want within a reasonable boundary, as long as someone meets the tributes at 6. But, since it's my first time here, I don't have that duty.

Beril says if I dress like a District 4 girl—or talk like one—I _will_ stick out like one, which will bring me sorts of attention I don't want. I just want to…watch. I don't want to deal with anything close to what I dealt with my last night here last year. But I don't want to dress like a Capitol freak so I try to compromise with myself. It's summertime so I can wear a swimsuit. I choose a light blue two-peace that covers what I want covered so I don't look like a Hook but shows a nice amount of skin like the few Capitol teenagers I've seen prefer, and a see-through light pink wrap and split-toe sandals called "flip-flops." I wonder if any of them will recognize me without my makeup on or without my face smeared with dirt.

The first shop I venture into is a bakery. When I open the door, a cool dinging sound echoes through the shop.

Behind the counter stands a young man with brown, yellow streaked hair to match the color of this year's Games. Unsure of how to greet him, I just smile and lean down to study his creations. I glance up at him every few seconds, wondering why he looks so…well…human. The only altered thing about him seems to be the pretty, light brown designs drawn around his emerald eyes and the hair dye.

The pastries themselves are more decorated. The designs made from different frostings of every shade of color, pushed out from different nozzles. Cookies, cakes, muffins, cupcakes, doughnuts, and delicacies I can't even name.

"Can I help you find something, miss?" he asks.

"Oh, I'm just looking."

I hear him inhale sharply and I tense, listening for an enemy, then I realize I forgot to fake a Capitol accent. He undoubtedly recognized my district accent. I force myself to look up and meet his startled green gaze.

His eyes search my face and I see his face relax with familiarity. "Dylan Syle."

I smile and straighten up. "That's me."

"Well," the man bows like they often do respectfully in the Capitol. I feel honored. "To what do I owe this great pleasure?"

"Boredom," I say. "Curiosity. This is such a strange place to me. I want to understand."

"Understand?"

"Your world. It's so different from mine."

"And you're so different off camera." He comments, looking me up and down. "I would've thought you a Capitol citizen if you hadn't spoken."

"I know. I meant to fake an accent."

"Well, can I get you anything?" He gestures to the array of goodies in the case that separated us.

I survey them again then carefully ask, "You didn't put anything crazy in them, did you?"

"They're no different than anything you can order in the Center." He promises. "Just made by different hands."

"Can I have that?" I pointed to a chocolate muffin with chocolate sprinkled on top.

The man presses a button and the glass slides up. The tray extends forward, presenting me with a selection of chocolate muffins to choose from. I select one and take a bite as the tray returns to place. It's delicious, like a tiny chocolate cake. The chips of chocolate break apart easily and trickle of liquid chocolate bursts in my mouth. The man waits expectantly, almost hopefully.

I smile at him. "This is delicious. I've never seen anything like these in the bakeries back home."

"Really?" the man asks.

I shake my head. "We don't have all the resources you do."

"I guess that's true," he says somberly. "Well, is there anything else I can get you?"

"I'd buy the whole store if I could," I say. "Speaking of which, what do I owe you?" I reached into the bag around my waist and feel around for the credit card. My fingers brush the knife concealed in there for a moment then I pull out the rectangular piece of plastic.

"I have this. But um… I'm not sure how to use it." I say. "We use paper and coins in District 4."

"Oh, well here." He beckons me over to what I think is the register. He points to a screen in front with a thin place underneath it where I'm supposed to swipe the card. The screen flickers to life and in the place labeled "picture" there is the seal of District 4. Under name it lists me as "HGV."

"On a normal card it has the picture of the proper owner, their name, and address. For you, of course…" he gestures to the screen. "And now there is a thumbprint scan to authenticate so, just place your thumb right here." He points to a seemingly pointless black square on the counter.

Carefully, I press my left thumb and then "authenticated" flashes across the screen and then next to "Account Balance" there is a 'UL,' for unlimited. The baker presses a few buttons on his end and smiles.

"Normally, you would see a deduction under the account balance, but you have no limit. Can I get you anything else?"

I scan the shelves again then pause and look up. "Can you make chocolate sponge cake?"

"I certainly can."

"Hmmm. Do you think you could make one and have it delivered on the day of the interviews? Sponge cake is a favorite back home and we almost _never_ get chocolate. I want Annie and Seaborne to have some before they go into the arena."

"Of course!" he seems very pleased. "Is there any particular way you'd like it?"

"Do you know the common recipe for it in District 4?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't." he says. "Do you?"

"Actually, I do." I say. "Where's your recipe?"

"Wait here," he says and disappears into the back of the shop. He returns moments later with a sheet of paper and hands it to me.

I scan the page, looking at the ingredients, preparation process, and cooking time. "That's pretty much the same, except we use a full tablespoon of salt."

"That's doable." He takes it back and scribbles something down with a pen.

"One more thing," I say. "What's your name?"

"Fleck Caske," he says, bowing again. "It's an honor to meet you."

"I'll tell Lillian that—"

The door opens and the bell chimes a warning. A mother walks in with her two daughters and the younglings make a beeline for the sweet display.

"Ah…I will tell her that we are expecting the cake and to keep it a secret." I say with my best attempt of the Capitol accent.

Fleck Caske smiles. "I will do my best." He bows once again and winks then I hurry from the counter, past the mother who is looking at me curiously, and out of the shop. It's nearly eleven in the morning and the people are beginning to venture into the streets. In the Capitol, they sleep late and stay up late.

In the next store, I purchase a pair of clear-rimmed sunglasses that a machine dyes to match my outfit. In a jewelry store I buy a pretty necklace made of shells and a silver chain with a small blue topaz gem on the end from an elderly woman who recognizes me instantly.

"Your hair," she says when I ask. "It's so pretty. The way it frames your face is unique. And you…walk differently than most girls your age that live here. They are such ditzy things. We had more brains in my day." She grumbles.

"You sound like my grandma did," I say, giggling. The woman laughs.

It's easy to enjoy myself if I forget that the people I'm mingling with will soon be cheering for the deaths of the twenty-four tributes. As the hours pass, it becomes and easier. My accent comes more naturally, I find myself correcting little quirks in my mannerisms to blend in better, and I only have to be a victor when they swipe my credit card and realize who I am. Most of them can tell I want to stay in disguise because they react quietly and don't call attention. There are a few over exuberant people—mostly other patrons—who see what pops up on the screen and freak out. I actually get asked for my autograph a few times. I tell most of them no, as nicely as I can, but when an awestruck eight-year-old holds up a pen and asks me to sign her shirt, I find I can't refuse. I just don't understand the fascination these people have with having my name on their clothing.

I have to buy a bag to store my goodies in. I chose a light brown beaded bag, pay for it, smile at the excited girl behind the counter, and flee from the shop. When the sun starts to set I decide to head back to the Center and start walking the way I came, before I realize I have _no_idea where I am. I stand on the edge of the colorful sidewalk, looking around nervously, before a boy, who looks around my age, stops beside me.

"Do you need help?" he asks.

I turn my head and find myself looking into pretty, mismatched eyes—one green and one gray—on a smooth, oval-shaped, tattooed face framed with spiky orange hair, which has bright yellow streaks through it.

"Um, kind of," I say, suddenly shy. "I'm lost."

"Lost?" the boy laughs. "Don't you have your CIM?"

"Um…what?" I say stupidly. What's a CIM?

He sighs. "Did you loose it?"

I sigh and pull off my glasses, letting him see my face properly. "What's a CIM?" I ask in my normal voice.

The boy blinks rapidly. "Oh. _Oh._"

I slip the glasses back on and smile once. With the Capitol accent, "Well?"

"City Interface Map," he says briskly. "Are you looking for the Training Center?"

"Yes," I say. "I've been out here for hours; I have no idea where I am."

"I can take you, Dylan." He says and bows slightly.

'_Well,__ well, __well.__' _Garret says.

"Thank you," I say in relief.

"My name is Sol." He says, bowing again.

"Sol, huh, that's odd."

"Why?" he asks defensively.

"No, I mean, that's a District 4 name." I say.

"Really?"

"Yeah, it means sun."

Sol smiles, "I know. But how does that make it a District 4 name?"

"It's not one you hear many other places. We have so much sunlight in District 4."

"Well, what about Dylan? Is that a District 4 name?"

"Actually, yes. My name means 'One who is born from the sea.'"

"Yep, that's District 4," he laughs. "Now, let's see. The quickest way back to the Training Center…oh! Now, pay attention, Dylan. This is how you get a ride here in the Capitol." He sticks his hand up and waves at an oncoming car. "Taxi!" he hollers.

"What's a taxi?"

"It's a car that drives you around for a fee."

"Oh, we have those in 4," I say. "Never really use them myself, though."

A bright yellow car sporting an advertisement for the Hunger Games on the side pulls to a stop and the door slides open.

"In you go," Sol says. I climb in nervously and Sol follows.

The driver presses a button and the door slides smoothly shut. "Where can I take you?" he asks politely.

"The Hunger Games Training Center, please," Sol says.

The taxi driver turns around in his seat and looks at Sol, so evidently a Capitol boy with his artificially colored hair and tattoos, then at me, a girl with long naturally red hair and no evident physical altercations.

"Yes, she's a victor," Sol says calmly. "And she needs to get to the Training Center as _quickly_as possible."

He raises one eyebrow at the driver who nods once. "And um, how will you be paying for the fee?"

Sol reaches into his pocket but I'm faster and I hand the driver my card. He swipes it, the generic information flashes up, and he returns the card.

"You didn't have to do that," Sol says once the car is moving. "I could've paid."

I smile. What a gentleman. I smile again, more brightly this time. "No, it's alright. They pay for everything we buy—no limits."

He arches one eyebrow again. "Really? Lucky."

"Oh yes," I say mildly. "I kill some kids and they give me all the money I could ever need. I'm the luckiest nineteen-year-old in the world."

Sol frowns. "But don't you want to do that? I mean, don't your tributes volunteer?"

"Yes," I say carefully and glance at the driver who's watching me out of the mirror above his head. "But none of us ever can understand what it's like until we're there. It wasn't what I expected."

"Didn't expect to have an ally?"

_No. I never expected to be allied with Garret. Or anybody outside of the Career alliance, for that matter. I didn't expect to torture a little boy to death. I didn't expect to make a friend and then have to kill her. I didn't expect to get hunted by rats._

"Not really," I say in a measured voice.

"Ok, I can see this is an uncomfortable subject. Um. Moving on! What have you been doing all day?"

"Shopping," I say. "It's actually kind of fun."

We chat with each other, giggling like kids, until the car arrives at the Center. The driver thanks us for choosing his company and opens the door for us. He speeds away the moment we're on the pavement. I start to walk towards the door of the Training Center, then I hesitate, not exactly willing to leave my new friend just yet. Likewise, Sol seems somewhat reluctant. He stands on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets.

"I can't go inside," he says.

"I figured," I reply. The silence that follows is a bit uncomfortable.

"Hey, um… do you want to…" he trails off, unsure of himself, so unlike any Capitol person I've met. I tilt my head, waiting. "Would you mind…um…?"

"Speak, boy!" I laugh.

Sol smiles, "Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

"Not that I know of," I say.

"Then, would you like to hang out?" he asks hopefully.

"Sure," I say, delighted by the idea of having a friend.

"Great! I know some neat places I think you'd like."

"Alright."

"Great," he repeats, grinning up at me like an excited kid. "I'll meet you here around ten."

"So late?" I wrinkle my nose.

"_Late?_ That's actually kind of early."

"I get up at sunrise," I say matter-of-factly. "Life is different when you have to work for your next meal. I wasn't born with a victor's winnings, you know."

Back on the 4th floor, Beril is waiting for me. Leaning against the wall with her arms folded across her chest, she looks me up and down twice then nods to herself. She pushes some of her straight black hair behind her ear. "You're late."

"_Late_?" I frown, feeling like Sol for a moment.

"You were supposed to be here for dinner at six-thirty."

"Nobody told me!"

"Hmm. Well, go put your stuff down and head into the dining room. There's still food."

I stick my tongue out at her as I walk past and march into my room. I kick off my sandals, toss my bags down, remove my jewelry and sunglasses, then walk barefoot to the dining room. Finnick is the first one to see me coming in. He stares for a second, then roars with laughter.

I glare, "Go jump out the window, Finnick."

"What? And risk messing up this pretty face? Criminal."

"Didn't we already have this conversation?"

"Did we? I don't recall."

"Yeah, we did," I say, remembering. "The other day. I said I'd be down as soon as I was dressed and you figured I would take ages to get ready and figured you should order a meal while you waited."

"Oh yes." He nods. "Well, I was right, wasn't I?"

"No! I was down in three minutes!"

"Hmm," he frowns, but his eyes glitter with amusement. I take a seat next to him and only then do I notice Annie and Seaborne on the other side of the table. Seaborne has one eyebrow raised at me and Annie is giving me a very strange look.

"Where are the others?" I ask.

"Ah, who knows?" Finnick shrugs. "Beril and I are on babysitting duty. I'm surprised you came back so early. First night of freedom in the Capitol and all."

I frown. "Beril said I was late."

Finnick sighs. "She's just being herself. Trust me, you could've come back at midnight and anyone else would've asked why you were so early."

I glare towards the dining room door where I'm sure I hear a quiet chuckle.

"What _have_ you been doing all day, Dylan?" Annie asks.

"Visiting the local stores," I say. "They've got some cool stuff here and I've got unlimited money to spend."

"I figured you'd enjoy that part," Finnick mutters and spoons some soup into his mouth.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I bristle and Finnick pats my head like I'm a puppy. I swipe at his hand.

"Oh eat," Finnick instructs, pushing my plate towards me. I stick my tongue out at him but I do surrender and pile roast beef, mashed potatoes, and yeast rolls onto my plate. I'm about to take a bite when a fork pokes me in my side.

I squeak and jump away, nearly slipping off my seat. "Finnick!"

"Sit up straight; you're setting a bad example for our tributes."

I bare my teeth at him. "Marrian and Reno didn't treat you like this."

"No, they didn't, but I've been coming here for years and I learned my manners before my training year." He lowers his voice. "So sit up straight and try to act like you know what you're doing."

I glare at him and grab a roll, tearing a huge chunk out with my teeth and chew with my mouth open, all the while never leaving his amused gaze.

"You two are weird." Seaborne says matter-of-factly.

I swallow my roll and lean forward, frowning at him. "Well, considering we've both reached near insanity once in our life, we have a right to be."

"Sit up straight, Dilly." Finnick murmurs playfully.

I sigh and shoot him a look.

"I'm going to my room." Annie stands up and, without another word, walks out of the dining room.

"Well, what's her problem?" Seaborne asks.

I look at Finnick and see my grimace mirrored on his face. I wonder how the whole exchange looked to Annie. There were rumors about Finnick and me back home; no doubt she herself has heard one or two of them. But has she believed them? A mutual understanding passes between us in that moment. We have to be more careful. Teenage hearts and minds can jump to the wrong conclusions very easily. Especially desperate ones.

The following day, Annie and Seaborne head down to training and I call Alaina for help. She shows up, wide-awake and ready, five minutes later. I explain the previous day and Sol.

"Well, I'm glad you're having fun, but Dylan, be cautious." She holds up her hand. "He cannot go to District 4 just as you cannot live here."

It takes me a second, then I realize she's telling me not to get romantically involved. Honestly, it hadn't crossed my mind once. …Ok maybe once. But I'm not considering it.

"Oh, Alaina, I know," I smile. "I wouldn't be able to live with someone who thinks 10am is early in the morning, anyway."

Alaina laughs and pats me on the cheek. "Alright, so what exactly am I needed for?"

"What to wear? I have _no__idea_ what Capitol girls wear! I'd like to blend in."

Alaina whisks me into my closet. She flits through the clothes, talking quickly. "Yellow is the color of this year's Games so I think you will wear yellow." She tosses me a yellow top that, when I put it on, only comes down about an inch past my breasts. Then she tosses me some dark denim shorts and strange yellow sandals with straps which loop around my ankles and wrap around my shins.

In the bathroom, she carefully paints gold and silver designs onto my hands, looping the patterns around my fingers and trailing into slivers on my wrists. Then she paints lines and dots around my eyes with the same colors.

"I feel like a sprite," I say.

"Sprite?" Alaina says curiously.

"A sprite," I say. "Faeries, little winged people. Earth sprites, air sprites, fire sprites, water sprites…"

Alaina looks thoughtful. "And they…are common in your district?"

"Common in our stories, yes."

"Hmm. You have given me an idea. Do you think Annie would look good as a sprite?"

"She'll look good in anything you design," I say matter-of-factly.

"Well, have fun, Dylan, I'm going to see what I can find about water sprites…" she says, almost distractedly, as she drifts from the room.

I pluck my brown bag off the bed, check to make sure the card and knife are still in there, throw it over my shoulder, and sprint to the elevators.

Sol shows up a bit after ten and, despite what I said, seems surprised to see me wide-awake and waiting patiently.

"Morning," I say brightly.

Sol stares at my face. "Who did that?"

"This?" I gesture to the art on my face. "Alaina, my old stylist; I asked her to help me blend in. Now she's off designing Annie's interview outfit. So, where are we headed?"

"The park."

I tilt my head to the side. "What's a park?"

It turns out that a park is a section of the city that is sanctioned off, kept so as not to be urbanized. Trees and grass cover everything, there's a playground made of plastic and metal, swings, stone pathways, bicycle paths, and enclosures with animals inside. I feel like a little kid again, walking with Luke into the training gym for the first time and seeing all the new toys. The small bows and arrows, the covered swords, the heavy balls, the ropes, the bars… But, in a way, this is a thousand times better. Everywhere I can see children and their families. Teenage girls, people _my__age_ not training to kill someone, lounging on benches, hanging by the swings, applying makeup, looking down at devices in their hands, staring at boys…

"You okay?" Sol asks me.

I nod. "This is all so…strange."

"You mean…you have nothing like this in your district?"

"No," I whisper. "We play on rocks, the docks, in trees, in the sand, and water…and there aren't animal enclosures."

"That's called a zoo. Some of those animals can't be found anywhere else in Panem."

"I want to go everywhere!" I say, my enthusiasm evident in my voice.

"Where first?"

I look at the different paths before me and at the sign that points the destination of each for a long minute, thinking carefully, and then I dart down the path that leads to a playground. Sol follows without complaint. When I round the corner I see the playground is much larger and grander than I originally thought. There are several of them, all differently themed and designed. One of them is built around a large tree. Around all of it is a pit of sand to soften the falls of any unlucky kid. All artificial, all made of plastic and metal.

I pull off the weird sandals and jump gratefully into the sand. It feels different than the sand at home, but sand is sand and I'll be damned to say I don't enjoy feeling it between my toes again. I walk among the playgrounds and try to capture every detail with my eyes. _Lana,__oh,__Lana,__I__wish__you__could__see__this.__You__and__Evan.__You__would__love__this._

"Excuse me." A tiny voice says below me and something tugs on the hem of my shorts. I find myself looking down at a little girl with blonde, yellow-streaked hair, and neon orange eyes. It takes me a second, but I recognize the voice. And the eyes.

"You!" I gasp.

The little girl who gave me the flute smiles, "I knew it! You're Dylan!"

"Shh!" I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one heard her. "I'm trying to not be recognized."

"Oh," the girl says, slightly downcast. "Well, you're not doing a good job. That's why I thought it was you. You're walking barefoot in the sand. No one does that, except the tots."

I frown. "Well, I better get my shoes, then."

"May I walk with you?" she asks, then seems to remember something and bows slightly.

"Of course," I say.

"Thank you." Another bow.

"You don't have to bow, really, kid," I say. "In District 4, this is how we recognize superiors or show respect."

I stand at attention, make a fist with my right hand and place it over my heart.

The little girl tries it, naturally, but then frowns. "Bowing is easier."

"Bowing in District 4 is showing the utmost respect—we don't have much need for that."

She follows me back to Sol who has retrieved my shoes and waits on the park bench.

"Who's she?" Sol asks.

"My number one fan," I tease. "She gave me a flute last year after my Games, which I still have, by the way."

The little girl beams. "I'm Chrysanthemum."

"That's a mouthful," I tell her.

"You can call me Chrissie if you want. A lot of people do."

I get my shoes on. Chrysanthemum then takes it on herself to show me around the playground. The best places to climb or hide during hide-and-seek. The best slides.

She jumps down the chute of a particularly large one and after realizing that her squeals were ones of delight, not terror, I plunge in after her. The air whooshes past me and I experience a brief feeling of weightless elation. The roof stops abruptly about halfway down. All too soon, I'm at the bottom and I fly off the metal, stumble a bit, and I catch myself.

"Wow!" I giggle. That was better than any slides we'd constructed back home.

"You've never been down a slide?" Chrissie asks incredulously.

"Not one like that," I say regretfully.

"Excuse me," Sol says from behind us. "But I'm afraid I need to steal Dylan now."

I turn around and smile at Sol. "Getting bored?"

Sol smiles and pushes some of his orange hair out of his face. "A bit, and there's a lot more to see."

"Alright," I kneel down next to Chrissie and pull her into a hug. "It was very nice to finally meet you, Chrissie."

"Likewise," Chrissie hugs me back then bows when she's out of my arms.

I start to do the same, then I stop myself. No. I am a District 4 girl, I do not bow. I move to attention then thump my fist over my heart and bow my head just a bit.

"Everybody here loves victors," Sol says as we head down a walking path.

"I can tell," I say. "It feels so…strange."

"Why?"

"It's not the same in the Districts—sweet Posiedon!" I gasp, realizing I am standing three feet from a creature I've only seen in once before in a Hunger Games. A lion. The great maned cat stares at me with the feline equivalent of a curious stare and I calm down when I realize he's behind a force field. How different I must look from the freaks he sees parading past his cage every day.

Sol laughs and welcomes me to the "zoo."

* * *

**Dylan's awful ignorant isn't she? ^_^ **

**Anyway, meet Sol everyone :) He's fairly important so get used to him. **


	22. Misunderstanding

**Turns out I've had this ready for weeks and just...forgot. Eheh...my bad guys x,x**

* * *

Day three of the tribute training: I return to the center early for dinner and to look at the training scores.

I tell Sol I will be busy all day tomorrow and then clear until the Games start. He invites me to a party some of his friends are having for the beginning of the Games; they share food and drinks, and watch the first deaths of the Games. I agree, of course, without really thinking. It really sinks in as I go up the elevator; I make a beeline for the bathroom and my lunch comes out the way it went in.

While Annie and Seaborne and twenty-two others begin the fight of their lives, I will be at a _party_.

My bedroom door opens while I'm leaning against the toilet and I prepare a glare for whoever it is that's intruding—

It's the Avox woman from last year, the motherly one with blonde hair. My dark expression instantly melts away. Her eyes widen and she scurries towards me, slips her arms around me, and lifts me up. She carefully checks my eyes, my pulse, and my forehead and asks with her eyes: _What's wrong?_

"I have a friend out there." I say in a raspy voice. "He invited me to a…Bloodbath party and I agreed to go. I wasn't even _thinking _about what that meant when I said yes…"

The woman gives me a sympathetic smile and pats my cheek soothingly. She flushes the toilet and guides me into my room. From her pocket she produces a small box. She opens it and pulls out a pack that contains one round pink pill. I open my mouth obediently and she drops the medicine onto my tongue and I chew.

She waits until I swallow; standing over me in a motherly fashion, then smiles and pats my cheek again.

After my Avox leaves, I change into a tunic I bought that is two sizes too big and a pair of loose shorts.

"Rough day?" Finnick asks when I walk into the sitting room wearing oversized clothes. Zaire, Lillian, and Beril are also in the room. They glance up when I enter, but otherwise ignore me. I flop down on the couch next to Finnick.

"You could say that," I grumble. "Sol invited me to watch the bloodbath with him and some of his buddies."

"And you said yes?" Finnick guesses.

"I wasn't really thinking about what it meant," I say defensively.

Finnick sighs. "Maybe it's best. Go have fun."

"_Fun_?"

"You know what I mean."

"So, are they back yet?"

"No, Seaborne isn't due back for another five minutes or so." Finnick glances at the clock and nods to himself.

Mags hobbles into the room and sits down in the chair next to Finnick. "Hot outside," she says then looks at me. "You're unwell."

"Yeah," I groan. "I threw up."

"When?" Finnick asks, concerned.

"About ten minutes ago." I mumble. "I got sick when I realized exactly what kind of party I'm going to be attending. The blonde Avox woman gave me some medicine."

"Oh, you mean Petal?"

"Uh, I guess?"

Mags nods. "Petal was a mother when they made her an Avox."

"That makes sense," I say, thinking of the way she looked at me. Poor Petal, no wonder she was treating me like a daughter. "Is her name really Petal?"

"Is Drop's name really Drop?" Finnick asks.

Right on schedule, the elevator doors open and Seaborne's footsteps can be heard in the hall. Lillian calls him in.

"You look happy," I say when the tribute saunters into the room with a boasting grin on his face.

"I am," Seaborne says.

"Did they seem impressed?" Zaire asks. "What did you do?"

Seaborne nods. "Yeah. I wrestled with some guys and did a bunch of stuff with a spear. That's pretty much it."

Zaire makes Seaborne sit down and recount pretty much every move he used, second for second, move by move. I tune them out and watch the clock for the time when Annie should return. When the elevator opens again, I sit up straight and watch the doorway eagerly. When she comes in the first thing I notice are her tears. Finnick stiffens.

"What happened?" Mags asks.

"I ruined it!" Annie wails and plops down on the floor. "I was fighting with the swords and I _lost._ I lost!"

"Calm down," Lillian sweeps across the room and places her hands gently on either side of Annie's face. "It is not the end of the world. How were you beaten?"

While she explains, I look at Finnick who seems relieved that she wasn't hurt. I pat his hand carefully and smile.

"But did you do well in the other things?" Lillian asks.

"I think so, yes," Annie says, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

"Don't worry, Annie. They will not judge you unfairly. Don't forget, they've been watching you for days."

But Annie worries. All through dinner I can see it. She barely touches her food, her eyes stare mournfully out the window, and by the time we're in the sitting room again she's trembling like a leaf.

I put my arm around her shoulders reassuringly. "Chin up, Annie," I order.

Annie sighs miserably. "How can I? What if they give me like, a five! No one will sponsor me!"

"They won't give you a _five_," I assure her. "You'll at least get a six."

Annie sighs and bows her head. Her dark hair falls away from her shoulders and hides her face.

The television flicks into life and the announcer welcomes us to the program and with no messing around gets right to the scores.

Bronze and Shimmer score a 10 and an 8 respectively. Gina and San both receive 9s. The District 3 tributes both score below 6. Then it's our turn. Seaborne's picture appears followed by…an 11 right below it!

"Eleven!" Tina shrieks. Seaborne is frozen in shock, staring at the screen with his mouth halfway open in disbelief. Then a grin breaks over his face as Tina's delighted yelps confirm what the screen is saying.

"Eleven!" Zaire hoots and thumps Seaborne on the back.

Annie's picture replaces Seaborne and Annie sucks in a sharp breath. 8.

"Yes!" I shriek, throwing my arms around Annie who seems as shocked as Seaborne was. "Annie! You got an eight!"

"I did…" she breathes. Finnick claps her on the back and grins like a kid in a candy store.

Tomorrow, of course, is the day we prepare them for interviews. Annie and Seaborne are shuffled off to bed and the rest of us have a meeting. I'm expecting to be chewed out for slacking off on my mentor duties, but as it turns out, none of them expected anything different, which actually offends me.

"This is an extraordinary place," Lillian says. "It's hard to resist the splendor when it's given to you on a silver platter."

"But I'll be here for the next two days, I promise," I say. "Sol won't be around. I've already told him I'm busy."

"Be careful around that boy," Lillian warns, drawing herself up. "He is one of them, remember that, Dylan."

I lower my head. "I know. But he's my friend."

"I understand, and that's alright," she assures me. "Tomorrow, Tina, Finnick, and I will be working them on etiquette. You will go with Zaire and Beril for angles and questioning. Think you can do that?"

"Duh."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes sir, captain, sir!" I hold my fist over my heart.

Lillian laughs. "You little krill!"

Alaina and Daemon then take the floor. One at a time, they hold up the outfits they've designed for each of our tributes. For Annie, she's made a light green dress that cuts off at her thigh on one side and trails down to her ankle with uneven, almost leafy edges. Visible beneath her thigh-cutoff is a small blue slip that falls just above her knees, also cut like the dress. A sash made of the same blue as the slip wraps around the bust of the dress, and around the waist, and then dangles freely down the back. She will have skin tone footies on so she will appear barefoot and for her hair is a crown that appears to me to be made from water, shells, and sea grass. For her back is a pair of translucent blue wings with small diamonds and pears sewn into the mesh.

On a pad of paper, she shows us the designs that will be painted on her skin. Raindrops and leaves, wind bursts…

"A sprite," I sigh wistfully.

Seaborne gets dark grayish pants and a short-sleeved dress shirt that match Seaborne's gray eyes. For his skin are designs of clouds, waves, and lightning bolts.

"A storm," Daemon explains. "To match his stormy personality."

I'm up after dawn and I'm the first one at breakfast after Seaborne and Annie who are still hardwired for early risings.

I pile all sorts of doughnuts onto my plate and plop down next to Annie. "Morning," I say brightly. "Are you ready for your torture sessions?"

Annie drops her fork. "…Torture?"

I stuff one doughnut into my mouth and wash it down with apple juice. "Oh yes. Interview preparation. We each get you for part of the day. We'll be working on your angles and etiquette. Etiquette is hell on earth. I had to wear this ridiculous dress and stupidly high heels, walk around, and answer questions while smiling so much my cheeks hurt. Remember how Finnick poked me with a fork? He did that the whole time during my etiquette session. I finally got fed up, threw the damn fork into the wall, hacked off part of the dress, and took food up to the garden. You," I add, "are not allowed to do that."

Annie and Seaborne share a long look.

"Ladies first," he says.

"Such a gentleman," she sneers at him.

I get the feeling that these two aren't as close as Pisces and I were. If anything, I'm pretty sure these two are more hostile than they look.

That may be a problem.

As it turns out, Seaborne was sentenced to the etiquette class first.

Annie sat in the chair across from Beril, Zaire, and I, looking as uncomfortable as I felt last year. I look her up and down, wondering how she should be presented to the audience.

"Not too girlish," I say quietly. "If Rosalinda wasn't in the Game, Annie could have a shot at sex appeal."

"Yes, but as you said, there's Rosalinda," Beril murmurs. "She's not a toughie and she's no good at maliciousness like you are."

"Perhaps she could be mysterious," I offer. "You've seen her costume."

"Mysterious…" Zaire says quietly. "I like it. But she needs more. Something she can display while being mysterious."

"You're a likeable girl, aren't you, Annie?" Beril asks.

"I think so," Annie says.

"Then maybe we should make her likeable and mysterious. Make the audiences love her as a person and keep them entranced by the mystery."

"Do you have that, Annie?" I ask. "Likeable and mysterious."

"I think so," she repeats.

"Alright then, answer these questions that way."

Unlike with me, we find her angle right off the bat. Annie doesn't even have to act likeable because that's just who she is. Her mysterious side, however, needs some polishing and that's what we spend the next for hours doing. Between Zaire, Beril, and I we read off every question card and fire off questions of our own that Annie answers. I can see her trying hard to come off as mysterious with every answer, but Beril reminds her that evasiveness can only work for so long and she'll need to be up front about some things. She does better after that.

After lunch, we send her into the Locker—ah I mean—etiquette lessons and Seaborne comes to us.

"You're a self-centered, confident, brutal asshole and that's going to be your angle," I tell him right off the bat. Zaire and Beril stare at me.

"It's true," I hiss quietly. "And you know it. Watch." I face the tribute sitting on the couch, trying his best not to look intimidated by the three of us. "Seaborne—that was an impressive training score. That must've taken some amazing talent."

"Was there a question in there?" he asks.

"Do you think you have a shot at winning?"

He snorts and rolls his eyes. "No, duh. I wouldn't have volunteered if I didn't."

"What are your chances, do you think?"

"Well, I've got a better shot than Rosalinda—at least I can do more than bat my eyelashes at anyone with some muscle."

"Alright, I get it," Beril says, holding up her hand. Her eyes glint mischievously. "So Seaborne—that's an unusual name."

Seaborne scowls, "Yeah? And?"

At dinner, Annie looks very pleased with herself. I ask what happened.

"I don't know what you were going on about, Dylan. It wasn't _that_ bad."

Seaborne and I exchange a look. _Whatever you say, Annie_.

"Now, here's how tomorrow is going to work," Lillian says, setting down her fork. "Your prep teams will wake you up, get you breakfast, and then you will spend the day getting prepared for your interviews starting at exactly 5pm. You two may sit up for a little bit after dinner, but you're going to want to sleep, in case you find yourself troubled with insomnia tomorrow night."

After dinner, Lillian sends Finnick and me down to the sitting room where a camera crew has been set up. Finnick doesn't seem surprised, but I am startled. Why is Caesar Flickerman sitting on our couch?

"Hello, Finnick, Dylan." He greets us warmly as he stands, like we're old comrades. Finnick may be but Caesar barely knows me.

I sigh inwardly. "So, what is all this?"

"We just want a few words about your tributes' progress so far. So come, sit down." He moves to the chair and Finnick and I sit on the couch.

A woman with her hair pinned up walks forward with a brush in hand. She pulls my hair out of the ponytail I had it in, combs it out and then pulls it back up neatly. Finnick's hair gets tousled a bit then she backs away and a man pats and paints a light layer of makeup on our faces to highlight our features. I sigh again. Audibly this time.

"Alright, and three…two…" A man behind the camera holds up one finger and points to us.

"For Annie Cresta and Seaborne Kip, we have two of their mentors here, Finnick Odair and Dylan Syle."

I wave once to the cameras.

"So, we just found out that Annie received an 8 and Seaborne got the first score of 11 in ten years." Caesar shakes his head in admiration. "What do you think about that?"

"I think Annie could've done better," I say right off. "She admitted she was nervous going in. Still, an eight is a pretty decent score. She's dangerous. Watch out."

"Agreed," Finnick laughs.

"What about Seaborne?"

"I am proud of him," Finnick says. "We all are. We couldn't be any prouder."

"Unless he'd scored a twelve," I add.

"Yes, twelves are incredibly hard to come by," Ceasar says. "There have been only two in the history of the Games. One of which was earned—"

"By Mags," I say, recalling an old lesson. Not long after Mags secured a 12, they upped the standards for earning that score and since then they have been nonexistent.

Caesar smiles, "Yes. It's a shame she herself could not come down for an interview."

Mags has diligently avoided all the interviews that she can since her stroke a few years ago. Actually, she tends to avoid everything to do with the Hunger Games themselves. She only comes for moral support, really. That and she's something of a symbol.

"Well, she's a busy woman," I say, though Caesar knows the real reason. Caesar's a great guy.

"So, back on track because our time's almost up, do you honestly believe Annie and Seaborne have chances at the crown?"

"I have no doubts about either of them," I say, staring straight into the camera, daring anyone to challenge me.

"Nor do I," Finnick agrees. "We _will_ have a new victor on the train this year."

_We have to, _I think. _Or I will be the one pulling Finnick away from a coffin in the train car._

"Well, may the odds be ever in their favor." Caesar says and we hold our positions until the cameraman says we're off.

"Well," Caesar stands and extends his hand formally. Finnick and I take turns shaking it. "Thank you for your time. If you want to watch the full program, it will be on tonight at nine o'clock."

"We'll probably tune in," I lie. I have no interest in watching the other victors talk up their tributes. At least _we _didn't have to lie.

After we leave the room, Finnick disappears down the hall and I head back to my bedroom. I strip down then hop into the shower. I'm more familiar with the buttons now, especially since I told Sol about the confusing panel and he took me into a store where a kind woman gave me a diagram to study.

The smell of the sea mixed with lavender fills the room before long and I inhale the steam from the hot water. The makeup washes away, along with the strange heaviness in my heart. After the machines dry my hair and remove the tangles, I pull a tank top from the closet and some flannel shorts.

I do turn on the television in my bedroom and the first thing that appears is me. I gasp and stumble back to my bed and grip the sheets in horror.

'_Whoa! Dylan! Calm down! It's just television!'_ Garret speaks for the first time in days.

My eighteen year old self stares right back at me, eyes wild and horrified, face streaked with mud and blood, cheeks hollow, hair matted, wet, and tangled with debris. Then it's Sawyer staring at me and I—in the present—gasp out a cry. They zoom out and I see the two of us on the island. My last enemy lies on the ground, dying in a pool of blood that I spilled. And me, standing a few feet away, massaging my throat with blood-stained hands.

Sawyer's lips twitch into an almost-smile at both me's…and she dies.

I shut the television off and slide to the ground, too numb to cry. I don't know how long I sit there, just staring blankly into space. Garret talks to me, trying to calm me. But his words seem…meaningless. The world outside my window get's somewhat darker as the sun sets and the lights from the city become brighter. I continue to sit there, staring at everything and nothing.

Petal pushes the door of my room open and takes one step in. Garret goes quiet. Petal sees me and more concern fills her face. I rise to my feet and give her a slight smile. Petal doesn't seem convinced, but she beckons to me urgently then recedes from the doorway. I follow her without question. Petal walks down the hallway as silent as a mouse, I creep after her. As she's passing the room where we all sit to watch recaps, she stretches out one long slender arm and points.

I look where she's pointing and realize why she came for me. Petal gives me a sad look and I nod once. She slips away and I tiptoe into the room.

'_Wow, he doesn't look good.'_

_No. No he doesn't. Garret, I can't believe I'm saying this, but please go away. I want to talk to Finnick alone. Without hallucinations listening in._

'_I'm always with you, though. Remember that.'_ And I am grateful for that. He goes quiet.

Finnick sits on the couch with his head in his hands, his body shaking with quiet sobs. I make my way over to the couch and, just out of range, I whisper his name. Finnick's head snaps up and his hands ball into fists, then he realizes it's only me.

"What do you want?" he snaps.

"Petal brought me."

"Damn Avoxes…spying on everyone…" Finnick grumbles.

"Well, if you don't want me here, I'll leave. But Petal was concerned about you." I turn to leave and, as I expected, he stops me.

"No, you can stay. Actually, I wish you would."

I take a seat on the couch next to him and put my hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong, Fin?"

"What do you think?" he asks softly.

"I don't know. I don't suppose you happened to turn on your television just in time to watch yourself kill your final opponent in your Hunger Games."

Finnick winces. "They're keen on replaying highlights from previous Games during the pre-arena week."

"I know. I just didn't expect to actually _see_ mine…"

Finnick pats my hand on his shoulder. "Well, it's over and done with."

"So, what's troubling you?"

"Annie," he whispers.

"Oh."

We sit in silence for several minutes. "She's going to look so beautiful in that dress."

I smile. "Yes, yes she is."

"She did very well in etiquette," He says conversationally. "_She_ didn't storm off in a huff."

"Hmph. Well good for her," I lift my nose. "Did she tell you what her angle is?"

"No, what?"

"Mysterious," I say ominously, stretching the syllables of the word out.

Finnick grins. "She'll pull that one off well."

Another silence, this time I break it.

"You know, I wasn't kidding earlier. She really does have feelings for you. Maybe…maybe you should tell her you do, too. Just in—"

"No don't say it!" he chokes out. "Don't say 'just in case!' Don't say it!" He rests his elbows on his knees and fists his hands in his hair.

"Just in case," I whisper, wrapping my arms around him. "Tomorrow sometime, tell her."

Finnick sighs. "How?"

"Simple, just say 'I love you.'"

"It's not that simple."

"Yes it is! It doesn't have to be complex." I lean away. "Just say it! Pretend I'm Annie. Go on, say it."

Finnick rolls his eyes and plasters a totally fake smile on his face. "I love you!" He says in a sing-song voice.

I slap his arm. "You're hopeless, you know that?"

He laughs, smiling normally. "I try." Then he sighs.

I gently wrap my arms around him. "It'll be alright, Finnick."

"Maybe."

"It will be, I promise." I lean over and kiss his cheek once. "Just have a little faith."

A strange sound, halfway between a gasp and a cry of anger, comes from behind us.

We both jump to our feet, Finnick's body protectively shielding part of mine. I automatically reach for a weapon at my waist that isn't there—then I realize who it is. We both relax out of our offensive positions.

Hair down, slightly messy. Eyes watery and wide. Something close to horror on her face. Annie.

…Aw, _crabs!_ How long has she been watching? Not long enough, I think. And I realize how the end of our exchange would've looked to someone who hadn't heard the whole thing.

"Annie," I say, holding up my hands. "It's not—"

"You could've at least _told _me to my face!" she hisses at me. Tears stream from her pained, green eyes.

"Annie—" Finnick takes a step towards her.

But Annie takes off down the hall before he can finish. We hear her footsteps grow fainter and her door slam shut.

'_Well done, Dylan.'_ Garret thinks sarcastically. _'Well done.'_

"Oh _crabs_," I say. "Annie!" I sprint down the hallway, nearly crashing into Beril (I swear that woman is always prowling the hallways) who angrily snaps at me: "That girl has enough to worry about without a broken heart on top of it!" I ignore her completely and hurry for Annie's room—my old room.

I knock once.

"Go away!"

I knock again then try the knob. Locked.

"I said _go away!_" she screams and something heavy hits the wall near the door.

"What in sea is going on?" Seaborne peers out from his bedroom.

"Annie's throwing a fit," I say, loud enough for her to hear. Something else hits the wall.

"Damn you to the Locker, Dylan!" Annie screams at me.

"Let me guess," Seaborne steps all the way out and leans against the wall. "Something to do with you and Finnick?"

I scowl at him. "She jumped to the wrong conclusion."

Something heavy hits the door and I spring away automatically. Annie is really in a state.

"Wrong conclusion?" Seaborne asks skeptically.

"Yeah, she only heard part of the conversation."

"I head _enough_," Annie screeches and something else crashes into the door. "_Saw _enough too."

A grin breaks over Seaborne's face and he wags his eyebrows at me.

"Not like that, you little eel!" I bare my teeth at him.

By now, the entire floor is awake. Finnick stands at the far end of the hallway behind the other victors who have gathered. Even a few Avoxes have emerged to see what the ruckus is.

"Open the door, Annie," I say, picking up a vase of fake flowers and dumb the contents on the floor.

"Go away!"

"What in the name of Poseidon is going on?" Zaire growls quietly. Finnick leans forward and whispers to him. Amusement flashes across the older victor's face for a moment, then understanding. "Oh. That's rotten timing."

"Indeed."

"Annie, please open the door. Come on, Annie-belly." Her old nickname. "I just want to talk to you."

Silence from within the room, then the quiet sound of the lock being unlatched. I open the door, look around quickly then throw the vase at a tray en rout for my head. They crash together and hit the floor. The vase shatters. Annie huffs angrily.

"Are you going to throw anything else?" I ask.

"Probably," she snarls.

"Uh huh," I lean out the door. "I got this. Maybe send an Avox along in a few minutes for cleanup." I shut the door behind me and leap lightly over the remains of thrown things.

Annie's red in the face and her eyes are swollen from crying. "How _could_ you, Dylan?" she whimpers.

"Annie, it's not what you think." I walk towards her and duck as she throws an urn at me. It shatters against the wall.

"Catfight!" Seaborne cackles gleefully somewhere in the hallway.

"Beat it, Kip!" I shout then murmur, "It really wasn't anything, Annie."

"Really?" she spits. "I'm pretty sure you just _kissed him!_"

"Only on the cheek," I say, walking closer.

"Bull shark," She growls.

"No, I'm serious, Annie," I say. "I do love Finnick, but I'm not _in love_ with him. There's a difference. And Finnick isn't in love with me. "

"Then what was _that_? And in the dining room, you said he was at your house! And I heard some attendants saying Finnick went into your room on the train. Not to mention those things they're saying back home!"

I hesitate, then I close the distance between us and I put my hands on her shoulders. "The day of the Reaping, Finnick was _outside_ my house. He knocked on the door and since I was still in the process of changing into my clothes for the Reaping, I leaned out the window to talk to him. We did make a few jokes, talked a bit, and then when I mentioned you were the volunteer, he went as stiff as a rusty rudder. In the train, Finnick came to my room just to talk. Nothing happened in there. We are _just friends_, Annie. Just like Pisces was."

"Pisces had a crush on you from the time you both were eight," She says accusingly, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Wait _what_?" I step back.

Annie rolls her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh, and put her hands on her hips. "Why do you think he let you live?"

"Because I saved his life," I say. "He owed me."

"Yeah, and you saved him when you were eight."

I stare at her in shock. Pisces was _infatuated _with me? Well then. "Uh…back on subject. Annie, I told Finnick while we were in the train. I told him that you, um, well—"

"You did _what_?" she shrieks."You _promised!_"

"I know, _I know_." I put my hands on her shoulders again. "But I told it to him straight. I was actually trying to guilt him. I told him you smiled at him whenever he came near and that he never looked twice. Then you know what he said to me?"

Annie remains silent.

"He…" I really want to tell her, but it just doesn't seem right. "Finnick," I say loudly. "You can come in, now."

Sure enough, the door opens and Annie's eyes fix on something—or rather, some_one_—behind me. I let my hands drop and I back away, turning to face Finnick. His usual confidence has completely washed away. His hands are stuffed nervously in his pockets, much like Sol's were the day I met him.

I smile at Finnick and incline my head towards Annie.

"Go get 'em, tiger," I murmur as I walk past.

I don't see or hear anything from either Finnick or Annie the following morning. Beril assures me that Annie is with her prep team, but after careful searching and a stakeout, I am quite sure that Finnick is not on the fourth floor. Petal shakes her head when I ask if she's seen our AWOL victor. Finally, I decide to try the roof.

It looks exactly the same as it did last year. I easily locate my old spot among the garden of trees, plants, and wind chimes. I lean over the side of the roof, being careful not to go too far and hit the shield. Down below, the Capitol is in a state of euphoria. In less than twenty-four hours, the gong will ring and the 70th Hunger Games will begin. For some of the children on the floors beneath me, there are less than twenty-four left in life. The thought makes tears well up in my eyes.

'_Don't think about it.' _Garret advises.

I force myself to calm down and focus. I'm up here to find Finnick.

I walk back through the garden, peering over and around plants for any sign of Finnick's reddish hair. Around the other side of the dome in the middle, I find him sitting at a table, scribbling away on some paper.

"Fin," I call softly. The pen freezes, then resumes its dance across the page.

I ease into the chair next to him and look down at the paper. Finnick's a poet, no surprise that he's writing down a poem.

"What's the inspiration?" I whisper. Not lifting his eyes from the paper, Finnick points at me with his free hand.

"Well, I'm flattered." I say.

A smile tugs at his lips.

"So…how did it go after I left?" I ask. "You gotta tell me, Finnick."

Without looking up, "Good."

"What? No details?"

"Nope."

"Well…am I forgiven?"

"I think so."

"Are you?"

"I _think_ so," he grins again. "And thanks, by the way, for letting me tell her…you know…."

"I figured it was your job, not mine," I say. "I'll leave you alone now. I just wanted to make sure she didn't stake you on a rock or anything."

"There aren't any rocks big enough here."

"Well…if we deflated that ego of yours, I'm sure we could find something."

Finnick snorts, finally looking up from the paper. "Maybe we should work on yours first."

I grin, glad that our friendship is still good. Hopefully, Annie is still my friend, too.

"Do you know what to do today?" he asks, slipping into mentor mode.

"Not really."

"Spend the day getting yourself pretty for tonight," he says. "Shouldn't be too hard and you've got a good seven hours. If you want, we're allowed to go down to the gym and ask the trainer's questions and some of them will let us have fun with the weapons."

My eyes widen. I've been itching to shoot some arrows for a while now. "Well, I need to vent, so I might just do that."

"Have fun." And he's focusing on his work again. I take my leave.

* * *

**With all the time Fin and Dylan spend together, well...it was bound to happen, you know.** **XD**


	23. Worry

**Hey you lot! I'm posting this a bit early on account of me making AB Honor Roll last semester. w0000t! Mom took me to Red Lobster. I felt like Dylan, chowin' down on all that sea food...**

* * *

"Not surprised t' find _you_ here."

I whirl around and throw the knife I'm clutching. With the reflexes of someone who's been in the arena, the man ducks before the blade even leaves my hand, with hands over his head. For a moment, a look of pure animalistic terror flashes across his face, then it's gone and Ian, victor from District 10, straightens up.

"Sorry," I say. "Didn't hear you coming."

"Odd, that," he says. "Considerin' you's new 'n all."

I frown. "What do you want, Ian?"

"Talk."

Why do I have a feeling this isn't going to go well? I narrow my eyes. "I thought you hated me."

"Yes ma'am," he says. "I do. Reckon I'll get over it soon, mind you. 'S kind of hard to hold the grudges…is just…you're here, and they ain't." Ah, Skyler and Lily, the tributes from last year. Lily died by Pisces' hand on day one after she wounded Silk.

'_On your toes,'_ Garret murmurs.

"You talk funny," I say. Between his district accent and poor grammar, it's hard to understand a lot of what he's saying.

'_Mouth, meet foot.'_

_Shut up!_

Ian frowns. "I reckon I do. Tweren't given a lot o' schoolin,' mind you. Talk how I wanna an' no way else."

"Skyler didn't talk like that," I mutter.

"Boy was one o' the lucky youngins' tha' got schoolin' a lot."

"Well, lot of good it did him," I mumble.

'_Foot, scoot over, here comes the other one.'_

Ian's eyes blaze. "I still hate you, missy. Don' be pushin' your luck jus' yet."

I put my hands on my hips. "Or what? I'm the one who's armed, remember, cowboy?"

'_And here I thought you were only supposed to have two feet.'_

Ian flexes his muscles. "Didn' win with weapons, girl; won with my bare hands 'round the bastard's throat—he was one o' yours. Big feller."

"Is that supposed to scare me, Ian?" I turn to face him more fully, ready for a fight if he starts one.

'_You and your big mouth._' Garret grumbles.

"Maybe," Ian growls. "T'was bigger than you, that kid. You nuthin' compared to 'im. You little rat."

I pull the bow off my back, knock an arrow, and aim it at him. "You want to give it a shot?" I shout. "Come on!"

"Hey!" A high, Capitol accent rings out. The sword trainer, Kriso, is running over to us with Tax, the archery trainer, hard on his heels. "What the hell is going on here?

"Drop it!" Tax yells, aiming his bow at me.

Baring my teeth, I lower the bow, but I don't drop it. Tax turns his weapon onto Ian.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Just practicing my aim," I say. "You told me to use living targets, Tax."

'_Dylan, for both our sakes, please, just stop talking.'_

"The girl smartin' off 'bout things she got no right smartin' bout," Ian growls.

"You started it! You had no right to say those things to me!" I shoot back. "You're not my father!"

Ian straightens up and looks me up and down with disgust. "Thank god for that. I would'a killed you at birth. If your pap had any sense, he would'a done the same."

'_He's just baiting you! Don't—'_

I raise the bow and shoot the arrow. Kriso intercepts it with his sword and I load another arrow, ready to fire again, but Tax has his weapon pointed at me again and if I even act like I'm about to let the arrow go he will shoot me in the skull.

"Ian, get your smelly ass out of here," Kriso orders. "And don't come back until you learn to control that mouth of yours and work the damn showers!"

Ian glares at me for a few more seconds before spinning around and stomping out of the gym. I turn around and shoot an arrow into the heart of a dummy hanging down a few dozen yards away.

"Sorry," I apologize. "He doesn't like me…because of what I did to his tribute last year."

"No engaging with anyone other than a trainer or assistant. Same as when you were a tribute. Consider this a warning, Miss Syle."

I pull the knives from my belt, slip the quiver off my back, and let everything fall to the floor. "Thanks for breaking that up. I've murdered enough," I say then brush past them and flee to the fourth floor.

'_Well, congratulations, Dylan_.' Garret says. _'You managed to make a total mess of everything. When are you going to learn to—?'_

"Shut up!" I scream.

I barrel out of the elevators and make a beeline for my room, half-blinded by tears. For once, I don't crash into Beril. Instead I crash into Finnick who was just returning from the roof. We both topple to the floor. Grumbling, he helps me up from the floor, but then he takes one look at my face, and his grumbling stops and he's crushing me in a protective hug.

"Shh," he soothes as my tears soak his shirt. "Dylan, what happened?"

"Ian…in the training gym…I…we nearly…but they broke it up," I choke out between sobs.

Finnick stoops down and picks up the paper and pen that got knocked from his hands on impact, then guides me to my room with his arm around my shoulder. He assures me he'll be back and swiftly exits the room. When he returns, he's followed by a distressed looking Petal. I'm beginning to wonder if she ever has a down moment in her life. She goes to the bathroom and returns with a washcloth. She carefully wipes my face of tears, sweat, and dirt. While she carefully mops my face, I gradually stop crying.

"Now, what exactly happened?" Finnick asks.

"Ian, you know, the District 10 victor, walked over and started talking to me. He talks funny and I mentioned how Skyler didn't talk funny and he kind of threatened me so I snapped at him and then I've got my arrow pointed at him and he's ready to attack me. Two of the trainers broke it up."

Petal pats my cheek reassuringly.

"But neither of you actually fought?" Finnick asks.

"Well, I did try to shoot him, but the sword trainer intercepted it."

"Alright, then no harm done, really. I need to go get ready. Take care of her, will you?" Finnick asks and Petal nods.

The blonde Avox puts both hands on my cheeks and gives me a comforting smile, laced with worry. I've seen the similar expression on my mother's face dozens of times.

"I wish you could talk to me," I say quietly.

Petal makes a noise. It's quiet, scratchy, but I'm sure it was her voice. Of course she can't form words, but just hearing her soft humming calms me down even more. She sits on the bed, her arm around my shoulders, and rocks me back and forth, humming softly. We sit like that for a while, her rocking and humming, until I'm smiling.

That must've been what she was waiting for. She slides off the bed and disappears in my closet. When she reappears she's holding an outfit in her arms that she lays out on the bed beside me. A lilac midriff top with lighter sheer sleeves and a lilac skirt that falls to my knees.

"For tonight?" I ask.

She nods and holds a few strands of my hair against the fabric. _It goes good with your hair_, she's saying.

"Alright," I say. "I'll try it on."

She shakes her head and points into the bathroom insistently and makes a motion like she's pressing several buttons and then water falling.

_Take a shower._

"Yes, ma'am." I put my fist over my heart then flee into the bathroom.

Petal isn't there when I return. She must've been called away by some duty. I spend the next few hours getting myself ready. I change into the outfit Petal picked, apply makeup, then wash it off and try again, lather, rinse, repeat, until I manage to not look like a clown. Really, makeup is not my department. Then I braid my hair and collapse into the chair beside my wall menu and order a bit of shrimp to hold me over until dinner.

I'm eating when Finnick knocks on the door. "Incoming!" And opens the door before I give permission. He looks me up and down once then chuckles. "You look nice."

"You, too. We have to look nice for Annie, don't we?"

"Of course. Now come on and don't forget shoes!"

I grab a pair of purple sandals from the closet and we hurry downstairs.

Finnick is quite familiar with the routine and he guides me through the hallways to the stairs leading the victors' box. Word must've spread among the victors about what happened in the gym because, unless I'm just imagining it, over forty bodies are creating a wall between Ian in the back row, and me in the front. I don't look at him.

Izibella Wiska sits in the chair next to me and smiles. "Hello, little mermaid." She says.

I laugh quietly. "Hello, Izibella."

"You…fought Ian earlier?" she asks.

"He started it," I grumble. "He hates me because I killed his tribute."

"You killed my tribute," Izibella reminds me. Her tribute was Rinn Asher, the girl who tried to commit suicide. I stopped her from killing herself on the Training Center roof then and ended up killing her myself in the arena after she played possum. Minutes prior to that, Arno struck down the boy tribute from her district.

"I did…didn't I?" I murmur.

"I hated you for ten minutes," She says. "Then…it didn't matter anymore."

"Really?"

Izibella nods.

Caesar's arrival ends our conversation then and there. Sporting his traditional midnight blue, twinkling suit, and yellow makeup for this year's Games, my favorite guy from the Capitol (except for Sol, maybe) prances onto the stage and the audience screams in admiration. The tributes file in, starting with the girl from District 1 and ending with the boy from District 12. Caesar starts off the program with some Capitol-based jokes and a few quips about district stereotypes then gets to the tributes, starting with the District 1 female, Shimmer.

This year's model is nothing like last year's. A small, sturdy, blonde girl with green eyes, she is the polar opposite of Silk's tall, lean, black haired, dark-eyed form. And when she opens her mouth, there's a high pitched, girly voice coming out, which sharply contrasts with the warm, smooth one that Silk had.

After the next five tributes have their turns, Annie is called up. She looks magical and mystifying in the sprite getup Alaina designed. Her pretty brown hair is styled around her shoulders and her wings, hiding whatever makes them stay on.

"She is pretty." Izibella murmurs. "Another mermaid."

"She's a sprite, technically," I correct quietly. "A water fairy."

"She's pretty."

Annie does a good job. She's charming and endearing about her family and friends—Finnick and I wave at her when she calls us out—but when Caesar encroaches upon the territory of her love life, she closes up instantly and begins to project the mysteriousness we practiced. She hints that there is someone she's had a crush on for a while, but won't say who, no matter how much Caesar begs. Finnick and I laugh quietly.

She takes her seat after the buzzer sounds and Seaborne walks up to Caesar. Predictably, Caesar asks Seaborne what the deal is with his name. Was he born at sea? Seaborne's face turns as red as a crab's shell for a moment then he scowls.

"No, I was not. But we live down by the docks and both of my parents are fishers. Where did _your _name come from, Caesar? Was your mom eating a salad when she went into labor?"

Caesar laughs and so does the audience. _Good job, Seaborne._

"Do we have to sit here the whole time?" I whisper while the District 7 girl is talking.

Finnick shakes his head. "Look around."

Most of the victors from District's 1 through 6 have already left. Izibella already slipped out of her seat without my noticing.

"You coming?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"Alright. I'm going to head back. See you at dinner."

He nods and I slip out of the victor's box. I feel Ian's eyes on me as I go and I turn to meet his stony gaze with a fierce glare of my own before I walk out the door.

Back on our floor, I find Lillian talking to a man with brown, yellow-streaked hair. It takes me a second to place him, then I realize it's Fleck Caske, the baker who was going to make a sponge cake for us. When I enter the room they both look at me and Fleck smiles.

"Hello, Dylan Syle," he says and bows.

"Hey. Where's the cake?"

"In the kitchen," Fleck says.

"I'd forgotten he was coming," Lillian says apologetically. "I almost told the 'keeps to send him off."

"It's quite alright," Fleck says. "I hope you enjoy it. I worked hard."

"I'm sure you did. Did you add the right amount of salt?"

"Yes," he smiled. "It didn't alter the taste too much, I'm happy to say. I know your people like saltiness, but sometimes too much salt is too much."

"Agreed," I say.

Fleck glances at the clock on the wall. "The program will be over soon. I need to get back to my shop to catch the partiers. It's been an honor. Adieu, ladies." He bows respectfully then exits the room.

"He's cute," Lillian says and I blush as red as a crab.

"Lillian! Are you _kidding _me? He could be your grandson!"

Lillian's eyes twinkle. "Cute is cute. Besides, from what I hear, you found your own hunk of cuteness, too."

My cheeks grow hotter, but more out of embarrassment from hearing Sol described like that than anger.

"He's just a friend."

"That's what they all say."

"Just. A. Friend."

"Who just so happens to be a male your age."

"So is Finnick! So were Garret and Pisces!" I throw my hands up in exasperation. "Haven't you people heard of platonic friendships?"

"That boy had a crush on you," Lillian says.

"…Which one?"

"Pisces," Lillian said. "Ever since you saved his sorry butt from a watery grave."

"I know," I say calmly. "But he was just a friend to me. Just like Garret."

"Garret had a crush on you, too."

"What?"

"That poor kid was falling head over heels for you," Lillian says. "I've been around a while, Dylan Syle. I saw the way he looked at you."

Garret…had feelings for me? I automatically listen for his voice, but he stays as silent as silent as the night.

"I…uh…well…then…um…they were just friends! Like Finnick." Hah! Try to get me on that.

"If you say so."

"Lillian!"

"Dylan!" she mimics.

I grit my teeth. I'm not going to have this discussion with her. "What's for dinner?"

"Food."

I roll my eyes. "No kidding. What kind of food?"

"Good food."

"I give up," I growl and stomp out of the room.

Good food, indeed. Roast duck and roast seagull, plus tuna salad, cooked peas and carrots, celery with a strange brown spread called peanut butter, sliced pears, mandarin oranges, crescent rolls, and mint ice cream.

At dinner, Annie and Seaborne are on cloud nine. They're sure they made good impressions and that we'll be busy all night signing sponsor deals. Well, Lillian and Zaire will be. Mags and I are going to bed, I don't know what Finnick will be doing, and Beril says she's going out to join the pre-Games party and her aim is to be completely drunk by midnight.

"Since when do you drink?" I ask Beril. Never, not once in all the years I've known her, seen her drink, except for last year on the train ride home when I was having a breakdown of my own.

Beril sighs and somewhat reluctantly admits. "Since Haymitch caught me on a bad day with a spare bottle."

"Don't worry," Zaire assures the suddenly stunned tributes. "She almost never drinks at home. Usually it's just here, when you're in the arena. But she's stone cold sober whenever she is the one monitoring you," he adds when he see their expressions turn from surprise to horror at the thought of a drunk person being their only lifeline.

Beril shrugs and takes a drink of a golden colored beverage that I doubt very much is apple juice.

"I've never seen you drink," Annie says doubtfully.

"I never really need to at home. I'm always plenty distracted with training new little killers."

"Distracted?"

Beril puts down the glass and leans forward seriously. "Sometimes my conscious likes to remind me that those kids I killed were people, too. And when that happens, I like not to be left alone with my thoughts. Every victor from every district, we've all done it once. Except Dylan, I think, but it won't be long for you."

I frown but don't argue. It's true. If Annie dies, I'll probably ask Finnick to join me and we'll drink ourselves into oblivion then mope around with Haymitch Abernathy until the victor is crowned, before we then slope back to District 4.

"You've drank, Finnick?" Annie asks.

Finnick glances up and nods. "A few times."

Lillian clears her throat. "Perhaps, as it is the eve of the Games, we should move onto a lighter topic?"

"Cake?" I suggest and the old victor nods.

I turn to the nearest Avox—Drop—and before I can even ask, he nods and hurries into the kitchen.

"Cake?" Finnick asks.

I smile. "On my first day out, I stopped into the bakery around the corner and the owner/baker, Fleck, agreed to make a cake for us tonight."

"Really?" Annie sits up straight. In District 4 not everyone can afford some of the delicacies at the bakery.

Drop returns carrying a three layer cake and I can't help but smile. Fleck iced it with all shades and swirls of blue, growing lighter and lighter with each layer until the top where there are rays of light filtering down from the sun above the surface. How in the world did he know what that looks like?

"Wow, he's a good artist." Seaborne says.

The cake is carefully cut and served. I plop a piece into my mouth and chew slowly. Just the right amount sweetness to dull the extreme bitterness of the excess salt. Delicious.

Annie says something with her mouth full of cake and earns a disapproving look from Tina. Annie swallows then says, "This tastes like my mother's cake."

"I think it's too salty," Tina says.

"Tina, if you don't like the salt and seafood, then maybe you should get transferred to another district." Beril snaps suddenly. "Maybe District 3. They hate salty food."

Tina frowns. "I will stay where they put me."

"Then get used to the salt!" Beril says then slams her fork on the table and storms out of the room. "Dylan, Finnick, if either of you feel like going out, I'm leaving in ten minutes!" She calls over her shoulder.

"What's eating her?" Seaborne mutters.

"With Beril, you never know," Zaire replies.

"You gonna go?" I whisper to Finnick.

He shakes his head. "You?"

"Nope."

Seaborne looks out the door. "Can I go?"

"No!" we all say at the same time.

After dinner we congregate in the hallway. Beril lingers only long enough to hug both tributes and whisper words of encouragement to them then she shoves past Tina and heads for the elevators.

The other victors take turns wishing their tributes well. I go just before Finnick, clasping Seaborne on the shoulder.

"You don't want me to win," he says before I can even speak. "You and Finnick both."

Why bother denying it? I shake my head. "But if Annie should die, I will be cheering you on until the end."

Seaborne smiles ruefully. "For the record, I was rooting for Pisces."

It's my turn to smile. "Try not to die on day one, eh Seaborne?"

Annie pulls me into a hug and whispers quiet thanks into my ear.

"Remember, Annie, we're cheering for you, Fin and me," I say. "Get yourself a sword, maybe a whip, and unleash hell on them."

"I will," Annie says.

"When you're on your own, find water and food, defend it. We'll help you as much as we can. Just…no matter what, don't give up. Even if it all seems hopeless, remember that we're waiting out here for you." I smile and step away so Finnick can talk to her and I slip down the hall.

I don't fall asleep right away. I'm a little tired, especially after my workout earlier today, but I just _know _he'll show up. He might be able to stay with her until she falls asleep, but after that, he'll have to leave her be. He can't be there at dawn when she wakes.

Sure enough, around midnight, there's a quiet knock at my door.

"Come on in, Fin," I say. "…Shoot, you look like hell. That's not good for your rep, Finnick."

Finnick sighs and flops down on the edge of my bed. He's silent for a long minute then quietly notes that I hadn't been asleep.

"No, I've been waiting for you," I say. "I knew you'd come."

"Am I really that predictable?"

"Yes." I scoot down to the end and wrap my arms around him soothingly when he starts to tremble. "It'll be alright, Finnick. It will."

"One out of twenty-four," He whispers. "Only one."

"And she is one."

"Will she be _the_ one?"

"She _is_ the one. The one for _you_." I put my hands on his cheeks and turn his head towards me. "She will come back. She will. And…if not…you and me, we're gonna go find Haymitch and we'll all get drunk together. Maybe Chaff and Beril will join the party, too."

Finnick laughs quietly. "Sounds like a plan. We'll go home and become the Village drunks."

"Yes. Yes we will," I say. "We'll drink our lives away until we die, never caring for anything else again. Not tribute training. Not Mags. Not no one ever again. Just because Annie died."

"Sounds like a perfect plan."

I drop my hands then smack him right across the face. The slap reverberates through the room and Finnick stares, completely baffled. His hand goes to his cheek, fingering the newly sensitive area but I can see the message didn't go through. I raise one hand and he braces to deflect the blow. I slap him with the other hand.

"Ow! Cut it out!"

"No. _You_ cut it out, Finnick Odair!" I say.

"You females and your damn mood swings," Finnick growls.

"You'd better shut up and listen before my mood swings from pissed to homicidal." I warn. "If Annie dies we can go get drunk for the rest of the Games, but once we're home, we're going on with our lives. We'll go to the training and teach new kids. We'll protect those who _don't_ want this fate. I will not waste my life because one girl died and neither will you. You will find love again or you won't, but _I will not let you_ throw your life away for this. You won to live so, dammit, you're gonna live."

"You don't know what it feels like."

"You're right. I don't. I've never been in love; I've only been the object of people's affections."

"Pisces," Finnick mumbles.

"And Garret."

Finnick blinks once. "Seriously?"

"Lillian thinks so."

"Well…I guess I should've realized." He smiles a bit then shakes his head. "But that doesn't change my situation."

"Finnick…" I search for the right words then sigh. "Go to bed and sleep. It's late. We have a long few weeks ahead of us. If you can't sleep, go hunt down an Avox and demand sleeping pills."

I sleep until around eight-thirty and head to the dining room where a small breakfast waits for us. I take two doughnuts and a cup of juice then return to my room to shower and dry off then stand in my closet and try to decide what to wear. What do you wear to a Hunger Games commencement party in the Capitol? Funnily enough, I've never had that come up.

_There is one outfit…_ I think then grab the pieces before I can change my mind. I put Rilee's necklace on, hook my sheath to the belt, and stick the money card in my pocket.

In front of the mirror in my room, I stare and my eighteen-year-old self stares back. Green-brown shorts a dark brown tank top, sturdy belt, and brown sandals: a summery version the tribute outfit from last year.

At the last moment, I grab some sunglasses then hurry down to the lobby.

Sol's orange and yellow hair is slicked up into many small spikes that make his hair look like a childish drawing of the sun. He's wearing bright yellow clothes in support of the Games. Staring down at a device in his hand, he's completely unaware of my arrival. I clear my throat.

He looks up and then the device slips from his fingers. His eyes travel up and down, taking in my outfit, and betraying his shock.

"That's…not exactly…appropriate…" he says slowly.

I narrow my eyes. "Either I go like this or I don't go at all."

"Dylan, really, you shouldn't wear that."

I glare at him and he frowns back. We stay like that, neither of us willing to budge, until he sighs and gives in, kneeling down to retrieve the object he dropped. "Alright, suit yourself. Just so you know, you stick out like a sore thumb."

"Says the glowing boy," I mutter.

"Hey, this—" he gestures to his bright yellow ensemble "—this is style." Then he hails a taxi.

"So is that what you do all day?" I ask. "Keep up with trends while the rest of Panem work their butts off for their next meal?"

Sol suddenly gets defensive. "We work, too," he says. "Well, some of us. My dad does. I will soon, too. Most kids here don't start work until they're over twenty, anyway."

"Really? Most kids back home don't start work until they're three. We think two is too young to do anything."

Sol stares at me. "_Three_? When did you start?"

"When I was seven I got my first official job. But before that, I was taught to swim, to fish, to hunt seagulls, and fashion a spear; to make fishhooks, weave nets, and where to never swim alone."

Sol's stare never wavers.

"The taxi is waiting." I climb in through the open door. After a moment, Sol follows.

"Where can I take you two?" the driver asks.

Sol gives him the address.

"Payment?"

I pull out my card and when the information shows up on screen, the driver turns around to face me, shakily returning the card. I give him a fake-sweet smile and arch one eyebrow.

"It's impolite to stare. And if you don't mind, I'd like to be in front of a television when the gong sounds."

"Y-yes, of course." The driver turns around, closes the door, and speeds off.

* * *

**Hehehe! Next chapter will feature someone special! Someone you all know and love!**

**Review!**


	24. Unacceptance

**There's going to be a pretty icky scene near the end. But you guys are HG readers. You should be fine.**

**So, I broke my foot the other day. AND YET I STILL MANAGED TO PERFORM ALL THREE NIGHTS OF ANIMAL FARM.  
**

* * *

The building we stop in front of is absolutely beautiful. A central tower surrounded by four smaller circular towers, the walls smooth and flat. They appear to be made of crystal, gleaming and shooting out rainbows from the rising sun. Every few seconds, my eyes adjust and I can see the rooms behind the window walls, then my eyes adjust again and I cannot. For the occasion, yellow streamers dangle from the rooftop and balloons tethered to poles and fences billow in the wind.

"Is…this…where you live?" I ask.

Sol shakes his head. "No. This is where my friends Gigi and Mimi live. Mine is…that one." He towards points to the top of another gleaming building a few blocks away. Though it pales in comparison to the shimmering structure in front of me, the building Sol calls home is ten times more beautiful than anything in 4, with its colorful hues and shining decorations.

"Why are we here then?" I ask.

"Gigi's hosting." He says then seems nervous. "I…um…I told them I was bringing a friend. I just didn't say who."

"You're not embarrassed to be hanging out with a victor, are you?" I fold my arms in mock anger.

"No, it's just…I didn't want them to do something stupid to try and impress you. That, and, well, Gigi can be a bit vicious. She can make a decision about a person just by what they're wearing and keep it until the day you die."

"Oh. I've dealt with her type before," I say dismissively. "Now let's go. I should really be at the Headquarters but I decided to come here with you today."

"Alright." He leads me to the doors and presses a button next to a speaker. A moment later, a pleasantly cool female voice responds.

"_Can I help you?"_

"Jen, it's me, Sol." He says. "We're heading up to Gigi's."

"_We?"_

A panel above the speaker opens and a camera peers out at the two of us, lingering on me for a moment.

"_Nice hair, Sunny-boy. Who's your friend? She looks familiar…"_

"Dylan Syle." Sol says smugly.

I look closely at the small camera. "Is this what they use to spy on us in the arena?" I ask Sol.

Neither Sol nor the speaker answer but a green light flicks on near the door and Sol pulls the door towards him and then holds it open for me. The woman sitting at a desk near the door leans forward to look at me.

"She's not an Impersonator, is she?" She asks with the voice of the speaker. "She's the real deal?"

"Impersonator?"

"Ah, in the arena tours, they hire actors and actresses that pretend to be the tributes. You know, for some of the reenactments," Sol explains. "We call them Impersonators."

I flush with anger. "So you mean some actresses flaunt around pretending to be me?"

"Well, only in the arena."

I snort. "I'll bet they feel important."

Sol chuckles. "Well, come on. Let's get up there. Not long now!" I think of Annie waiting in her Launch Room with Alaina and I nod.

The elevators open and Sol presses the button for floor nineteen of the main tower and we zoom upwards. The doors open and we step out into a very small room. One cream door on one side and one on the other and each with a number carved in gold near the top.

"Each apartment takes up half of the floor," he explains and knocks on the door to the left. "Lot's of room, completely soundproof walls, and a decent rent. Nice isn't it?"

"Rent?"

The door opens and sounds of a television stream through and a mid-sized, chunky girl just a bit younger than me stares up at Sol.

"Wow, Sol, lookin' good!" she says, tossing her strange hair—pinkish red with spots of black and streaks of green. "Oooh! You brought an Impersonator? Awesomeness! Is she going to do some sort of skit? Come on in, honey!"

Wow, the girl can talk fast! I wonder how my brain was able to comprehend her words between the accent and speed.

"Uh, Mimi…" Sol says, but Mimi darts forward, seizes me by the wrist, and drags me into the apartment.

"I'm Mimi!" she says. "Welcome to our abode! What's your name, honey?"

"Dylan," I say.

"No, I mean what's you real name?"

"Dylan," I insist.

"Oh I get it!" Mimi says. "You're like, _in character_. Got it. You look a lot like the real girl. But you've got too many freckles."

I turn my head and frown at Sol who shrugs helplessly.

"Hey, everyone!" Mimi squeals when she drags me into what I assume is the living room.

There's a huge television that appears to be _in_ the crystal windows that are completely transparent from this side. Three couches arranged in a large semi-square in front of the television with a table in the middle loaded with enough food to feed my family for two entire days. Sitting on the couches are four teenagers, two guys and two girls, each sporting the Games colors in some way or other.

The smallest boy looks around fifteen and has shoulder-length black, yellow-streaked hair and a rounded body, giving the impression that he is a bumble bee. The other boy who is probably a few inches taller than Sol and a year or so younger, wearing a yellow tunic and yellow face-paint, but his brown hair is untainted. One of the girls looks just a bit taller than me and she has neon yellow curls swept up into a ponytail and matching skin. Bright green eyes gleam from within their sockets. The other girl, sitting straight and tall, is narrow-faced, with piercing gray eyes and slick black hair.

"Sol brought an Impersonator! Look! Isn't it fantabulous?"

"Uh, I'm—" I start to say but then the yellow girl jumps to her feet.

"Really? Wow! I guess you're not going to be working so much anymore, huh? Maybe you could find another tribute to be when you're not busy at Arena 69. Do you see any tributes this year that you could be? I know it's a step down, but maybe you could play that girl from 12."

"Hey, now, I'm not—"

"You'd have to dye your hair, though," she goes on. "And seriously get rid of those freckles."

"Hang on!" The sharp-girl, I think she must be Gigi, rises to her feet and gives me a sweet smile. "What were you going to say, hun?"

_Thank you!_ "I'm not an Impersonator or actress or whatever it is you think I am." I jerk my arm away from Mimi."I _am _Dylan. Sol, why didn't you tell me this would happen?"

"I did warn you not to wear that." He says.

The teenagers go completely still and stare at me. I yank off my glasses and shove them in my pocket so they can see me properly.

"I'll be damned," Bumble Bee Boy says, rising to his feet, and bows once. "It really is her."

I smile at him. "Finally someone gets it."

"Wow, where did you get that outfit?" Yellow girl asks. "It looks like the real thing. Sort of. Just missing a jacket and there's supposed to be pants."

"I know," I say, resist the urge to roll my eyes. As if I could ever forget the clothes I wore in the arena. "This is just stuff I found in my closet. I didn't know I'd be harassed about it."

"Sorry 'bout that. Mimi has a habit of jumping to conclusions." Yellow girl smiles and bows politely. "I'm Lexie."

"I'm Zeke," Bumble Bee Boy says.

"Cinna," the brown-haired boy says, smiling, and nods his head to me.

Gigi gives me a curt smile. "So, to what do we owe the _honor_? Shouldn't you be busy helping your tribute? Isn't she your friend?"

"She is," I say. "And there's nothing more I can do for her right now, so why just sit around? Sol invited me."

"How'd you even meet her?" Mimi asks Sol. "And _when_? Why didn't you tell us?"

"The day after the Opening Ceremonies," Sol says. "She was out exploring the city and got lost. I escorted her back to the Center."

"And you waited this long to introduce us?" Mimi shrieks. "You horrible boy!"

"Well, I didn't want you guys to scare her off before she got used to the city." Sol flops onto the couch.

"Smart idea," Cinna laughs then stands up. "You looked very nice in those outfits last year," he says to me. "I want to be a stylist for the Games."

I look him up and down. "You don't look like the…type they usually have."

Cinna grins. "Yeah, I know. But every trend begins somewhere. Maybe I'll start a new one."

"Which district do you want?" I ask. "Maybe you could replace our male-tribute stylist, Daemon. He's insane."

"I was thinking maybe—" he says.

"Guys!" Zeke bursts out, pointing to the television. "Five minutes!"

My head snaps around to the television. In the corner of the screen a counter is counting down the milliseconds to the moment when the tributes will be lifted out of the ground. While the air around me crackles with excitement, I feel a sense of calm mixed with dread washing over me. Lives are about to end. With stiff, small steps I make my way over to the couch. Lexie pats the spot between her and Sol.

'_Wow. And now we've come full circle, eh, Dylan?_' Garret murmurs.

_Yeah, I guess we have._

The Capitol seal appears on screen and when it vanishes the black screen dissolves away revealing the arena of the 70th Hunger Games.

The arena is a canyon. A large canyon stretching out for dozens of miles. Small streams trickle down the walls into a river. At one end, a large dam holds back a vast lake of water. It's large enough to support several tributes without any territory disputes. In the dead center back of the gorge sits the Cornucopia, the giant golden horn with survival gifts spilling from the mouth. Weapons, food, clothes, tents, medical supplies—everything the tributes need to survive.

In the canyon itself there are various other crevices and drops, lots of rocks, some greenery, but not a lot of protection from the scorching sun above.

I lean forward in anticipation. Lexie recoils.

"Ohmygawsh she's got a knife!" she gasps.

I look down and realize my shirt has shifted and is no longer covering the concealed weapon.

I nod. "I never leave my bedroom without at least one strapped on." Then I give her a wry smile, and lower my voice. "I can't help it."

"Ten, nine, eight, seven…" Zeke whispers excitedly and everyone in the room except Cinna and me leans forward in eagerness.

"Six, five four…"

Twenty-four rings of grass slide away.

"Three! Two! One!"

Annie, Seaborne, and their twenty-two competitors slide into view and their plates lock into place.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 70th Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice says from the speakers and from across the entire city comes a roar of excitement and the people in the room cheer, too. A counter appears, ticking down sixty agonizingly long seconds.

Tan knee-length pants, black boots, and reddish brown shirts. Every tribute wears the exact same thing. They show each tribute's face for a second. Most are terrified, but some are calm, and the Careers all radiate determination. Annie's hair is firmly braided down her back and her face is set in a scowl.

Twenty seconds.

I put my hand on the handle of my knife and focus on keeping my breathing calm. It's like I'm back in my Games, standing on my plate, taking in the land, looking for my alliance. Sawyer waiting just a few feet away, determined, ready. Sane. Garret standing wherever, staring at the horn, knowing he wouldn't come out alive.

Ten seconds.

No one's counting down now. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest.

Bong!

The gong rings out and years of training make me leap out of my seat, ready to run for the Cornucopia.

"Whoa!" Sol and Garret say at the same time. Sol and Lexie grab my arms, pulling me back down onto the couch.

Since there's so much going on, they can only give overhead shots and maybe zoom in on a fight for a moment. The boy from 11 reaches the Cornucopia first, powered by long lean legs. San from 2 arrives next and as the 11 boy is grabbing a pack San picks up a mace and throws it. Down goes the boy from District 11, the first kill. Annie's at the Cornucopia. She grabs a sword and then quickly scans the pile before scrambling up and seizing the handle of a coiled whip, which she quickly fastens to her belt. I do my best to keep my eyes on Annie, but fights between others keep my eyes flying across the screen.

They zoom in on a heated battle between Seaborne and the girl from 5 who is putting up one helluva fight. She's got a sword and he's got a short spear in each hand. He dances back to avoid her jab and then attacks, spinning around, swinging and swirling the spears in a deadly pattern that's difficult to do no matter what weapon being used. Heck, I've only done it successfully a few times. Risky. Good boy.

The girl from 5 gives up and flees from the Cornucopia with the sword still in hand and the screen returns to an areal shot. From what I can tell, there are already five dead or dying on the ground. All of the Careers are alive. Shimmer and Bronze stand guard at the Cornucopia, slashing at anyone still trying to get close, while Gina, San, Annie, and Seaborne battle and chase the others. Gina disappears into the woods in pursuit of the girl from 3.

Annie catches up to the boy from 9 who is running from the Cornucopia. She grabs the whip from her belt. With expert precision she flicks it forward and it coils around his leg. She snaps it back and pulls his leg out from under him. He doesn't even have a chance to scream before he hits the ground and once he's there he doesn't even have time to turn his head to see who just sank their sword into his back.

"Good girl," I breathe.

"Aw man!" Zeke says at the same moment. "I sponsored that kid."

"Well, that's what you get for investing poorly for the…what, fifth year in a row now?" Gigi laughs.

"What?" I laugh. "Who'd he sponsor last year?" I ask.

"District 8's boy. That's what Zeke does." Lexie says. My laughter dies in my throat. "He sponsors the male tribute every year in chronological order."

'_Well then. Nice to know people think so highly off me._'

I pull my lips back from my teeth, feeling an uncontrollable hatred for Gigi. _Garret was not a poor investment! _Mimi notices my anger.

"Shh! He was her ally, remember?" Mimi whispers to her sister.

Gigi glances at my furious expression for a moment, then looks back at the television.

'_Don't do it, Dylan!'_ Garret yells so loudly I'm surprised none of the heads in the room turn to look for the source. '_For goodness sake's don't!'_

_Why shouldn't I?_

'_You'll be killed!'_

_She couldn't hurt me._

'_Not her. The _Capitol_ will kill you. Quickly, if you're lucky. If not, you'll be imprisoned! Or turned into an Avox!'_

My resolve wavers. Life as a mute slave of the Capitol? All for maiming a worthless brat? A worthless brat who insulted _Garret_…

'_Dylan. Please. Don't.'_

I force myself to look away from Gigi and focus on the television again. She's not worth it.

The bloodbath is ending. Unlike last year, some of the fleeing tributes are being pursued. Annie takes down the girl from 12 and Bronze very nearly kills the boy from 8 who escapes at the last second because Bronze trips and falls. The boy scurries into a small opening between two rocks and wriggles out of sight. Bronze, winded and slightly dizzy, looks around angrily.

"Go ahead," Bronze spits. "Run little boy. Run. I'll find you soon enough and when I do, I'll kill you."

With that, the boy from District 1 turns around and storms back to the Cornucopia. Garret sighs in relief. The boy from 8 does not emerge for a long time after that. The screen flicks between the surviving tributes, most of them fleeing, some of them hiding, and then the alliance sorting through supplies.

"Not a lot of food," Gina announces grimly. "Or weapons."

"What?" San drops the body of the 11 boy that he'd been carrying towards the pile of corpses they were making.

"You've got to be kidding me," Annie sighs.

"But there's medicine," Shimmer assures them. "Sleeping bags, clothes, water, fire-starters…and…um…this."

She holds up a flat neon orange bundle the size of a ball with a string dangling from the bottom. It takes me a second, but then I realize what it is at the same time Annie gasps.

"Oh!" she rushes over and snags it from the District 1 girl. Her eyes are greedy as she stares down at it and this doesn't escape the other's notice.

"What is it?" Gina asks, her hand inching towards a spear.

"Is that what I think it is?" Seaborne asks, coming closer.

"It's an inflatable life boat." Annie says eagerly and she jumps once excitedly. "There must be water around here. A lot of it."

"Oh great. Are they gonna shove us around with floods again?" San asks. "I'm not going to be guided on a rope like your dog," he tells Annie and Seaborne.

"That's a small life raft. How could they all fit on that?" Mimi notes. Her accent jerks me away from the television and I stare at her for a moment. The others are looking at me, waiting for an explanation.

"It…it's inflatable," I explain. "See that cord? If they pull it hard enough, the raft will expand quickly. It might hold all six of them or only one. No telling what the capacity is without seeing it full-size." I lean back and frown. "They're very expensive but every boat has to have at least one onboard. They're a last resort, though."

Then the cannons begin to fire and a counter appears on screen. Ten. Ten dead in the Bloodbath.

"Ten!" Sol crows and then grins at Zeke who claps once.

"Alright, let's do this."

"What? I ask.

Cinna sighs and rolls his eyes. "Zeke and Sol made a bet earlier this year. For every tribute alive after the beginning, Zeke has to drink a shot of vodka. The more dead, the less he has to drink. He's got to drink fourteen shots. If he can do it without passing out, or dying, he wins."

"I'm going to win this bet," Sol says confidently.

I swallow back my revulsion. I figured people bet on these kind of things…but Sol never struck me as one of those who would. There's a lot I don't know about him.

"But…um…won't your parents be mad?" I ask. "In 4 there's an age limit for alcohol."

"The age limit is fifteen," Sol says. "Zeke is nineteen."

"Besides," Mimi says. "The 'rentals are never home anyway."

_The what?_

Gigi heads into what I assume is the kitchen and returns with a bottle in one hand and a tray of shot glasses in the other. She fills one bottle and Zeke tosses the contents into his mouth easily.

I don't want to sit here and watch this. It's disgusting, the betting over the sport of death I glance up at the television. The Career pack, it seems, has decided to go hunting right away instead of properly setting a camp and waiting for the tributes to be lulled into a false sense of security.

It'll probably be a while before they find anyone. That should give me time to get to the Headquarters.

"I'm leaving," I announce and stand up.

Zeke pauses with the second glass halfway to his mouth.

"Why?" Mimi whines.

"I've worked on the boats for long enough to know that when adolescent males get drunk they are not fun to be around. I was practically molested by a drunken guy once. I'm not saying you're like that when you're drunk, Zeke, but I'm not in the mood for dealing with intoxicated people and I really don't want to use this." I put my hand on the hilt of my dagger. "Plus, honestly, I find this whole display offensive and disgusting. Don't get up, Sol. Stay with your friends."

Sol opens his mouth but he's cut off.

"Please don't go!" Mimi jumps to her feet. "Zeke can wait until later!" She glares at him until he lowers the glass back to the table.

I shake my head. "No. I have other things I have to do. Thank you for your hospitality. But I'm leaving."

"Goodbye, then," Cinna says politely. "I hope your tribute wins."

I give him a genuine smile then head for the door.

"Bye, Dylan!" Mimi calls sadly.

"It was nice meeting you!" Lexie adds.

"Bon voyage!" Gigi says almost sarcastically. Oh, that girl _wants_ me to hurt her. I swear.

I close the door behind me and press the button on the elevator. Less than ten seconds later, the door opens and Sol steps out of the apartment.

"Sol, don't." I say. "Go back, have fun. Wait for Zeke to pass out so you can earn your winnings."

Sol grimaces. "Please don't go."

"No offense, Sol. I'm sure they're great people, but I…I just can't hang around with a boy who takes a drink for everyone who didn't die. Or the people that encourage him." I give him a look.

"Then…is this goodbye?" he asks.

I grit my teeth. "…Is it?"

The elevator opens behind me but I ignore it and wait for the answer.

"I don't want it to be."

"Sol. I am not one of the girls reared here. I don't condone your customs and I _cannot _pretend to enjoy celebrations of death. I can't tolerate someone who insults Garret, or any of my fellow tributes, like that. I can't pretend to be interested in seeing how many of the shots Zeke can drink before he passes out. I was _there_, Sol. While you guys were sitting on a couch watching a screen, I was fighting for my life. If you want to be my friend then you need to understand _who_ I am. We are different, Sol. If you think you can ever understand me and want to be my friend, you know where to find me. Until then, goodbye Sol."

I turn around, press the button, and the doors open immediately. I press the button for the lobby and watch Sol's face until the door close between us.

Several hours after leaving Gigi and Mimi's house, I arrive in the Games Headquarters in new clothes and without makeup. A guard stops me and demands identification.

"Dylan Syle, District 4 victor." I say.

The guard nods and directs me to the District 4 control room. They're control rooms are down a long hallway, odds on one side and evens on the other. It's empty except for a camera-man and reporter standing impatiently outside of the District 9 door. I pass the control rooms for Districts 1, 2, and 3 and stop in front of the blue door with a golden 4 nailed to it. I press a button and the door slides open for me and I disappear inside just as the reporter looks my way.

The room is not that big and dimly lit. One wall is comprised almost entirely of various screens. On one side of the room is a standard size bed, the other side has several chairs. Zaire is at the control panel by the wall-screen and Lillian sits on the bed.

"Dylan!" Lillian exclaims, standing. "I thought you were at the…party."

"I was. I left." I say.

"Why?"

"Long story."

"…Did something happen?" Lillian asks seriously.

"No," I say. "Nothing I'll get in trouble for."

Lillian doesn't seem entirely convinced but she shakes her head anyway. "Well, welcome to control central. Are you ready for training?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say.

Zaire beckons me over. One large screen projects images of both of our tributes, focusing on each individually. The angles change as the different cameras provide feed. On either side of the screen are two smaller screens. They each had very high monetary amounts in one corner and two icons labeled 'basic' and 'custom' in the other. Another two screens below the large one are covered in smaller video feeds from cameras around our tributes. On a table below the screens rests a keyboard, touchpad, and a telephone, plus a smaller keyboard in one corner and a small holographic map of the arena in another.

"What are those?" I point to the icon.

"Gifts we can send," Zaire says. "Basic gifts are like matches, water, clothes, bread, and other default items. Custom gifts are ones sent with our specific specifications. Like the medicine we gave you last year. We typed in the nature of your injury and the location and you were sent the best one they had based on the dollar amount we were willing to spend."

"Wow," I say. "Have you sent Annie anything? Or Seaborne?"

"No, they don't need anything. You'll have to learn to determine when they _need_ something. Otherwise, you might run out of money and not be able to provide something essential. Do you remember when the mutts injured your leg?"

Of course I remember. How could I forget the monstrous rats that hunted me and cornered me like the wounded animal I was? One of them scratched my leg before I stabbed its paw and I'd nearly gone hysteric when I saw the damage. And their horrid _screeching_…

I shudder involuntarily and Zaire takes that as a yes.

"I was on panel with Marrian when it happened." Zaire says. "I was all in favor of sending you the medicine right away, but Marrian told me to wait because she knew you were knowledgeable about certain herbs. When she realized you didn't remember we sent what we could with what money we had. And as you saw later, it didn't completely heal you, because the cure exclusively for that poison was several thousand more than we had. We didn't have enough time to gather enough money for the total cure, but what we did provide was designed for a similar venom. That's another thing you will learn: when a substitute better than the other option. But at the same time, sometimes the real thing is better over a substitute. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Alright, then say Annie is becoming malnourished. The body needs calcium, proteins, vitamins, carbohydrates, and nutrients to survive. You could send her five types of food: a fruit, vegetable, meat, a loaf of bread, cheese. You may send as much as you want. Each will cost a hundred credits. But, remember that food goes bad after a time.

"Or, you could send her five protein bars that supply enough protein and vitamins for her for five hundred credits each. It's not as hunger quenching, but each bar is worth a meal or two, and they will give her what she needs to find proper food. They also can be eaten in increments whereas food like fruit must be eaten all at once. Which do you do? Base your options on the terrain and what you know of Annie. You have five minutes to reach a decision."

Then he turns back to the screen.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, resting my chin on my fists, and mull that one over. On the one hand, I could provide Annie a feast of food. But knowing her, she would eat it all quickly. She was never good at saving food. However, perhaps the Games will teach her how. Yet at the same time, Annie has never liked the taste of the protein shakes we got back home. But I know, if she had to, she would stomach it. Still, five protein bars would cost twenty-five hundred credits. I could send her a multitude of food for that price…

It was indeed a tough decision.

"Times up," Zaire says. "Tell me your decision."

"Annie loves food," I say. "She will be inclined to eat her food instead of rationing it. But the protein bars she won't gorge herself on and if she eats bits at a time, they might last longer. I did the math. I could send her twenty-five pieces of food for the same price as five protein bars. But…I think…I would do the protein bars. They won't go bad, they're easy to carry, and she won't waste them."

Zaire nods. "A reasonable choice, Dylan. However, think of this. Twenty-five pieces of food could also last her a while. One of each a day will keep her sated and sure for five days, during which she will have plenty of time to hunt. Those bars are not as satisfying and though she may not like them, but she may eat them all to end the hunger."

I frown, regretting my decision now.

"Don't be upset," Zaire says. "Your reasons were well thought out and had you chosen food, I would've given you points to support the other. Each choice has positives and negatives and you must weigh them carefully but swiftly. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Would you like any more scenarios while we wait for something to happen?" Zaire asks.

"Please," I say, eager for more practice.

For the next hour, Zaire gives me scenario after scenario, pointing out the pros and cons of each and then giving me several minutes to deliberate before hearing my choice and pointing out why the other option would've worked, or why I chose wrong or right. It's very interesting and good practice for when I shall be making these decisions alone.

Then two red light start to flicker on each side of the screen and blipping noises emanate from them and Zaire stops mid-sentence and spins around to the screen.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"The left side is for Annie and the right is for Seaborne. Both alarms going off simultaneously mean that both of our tributes are in imminent danger," Zaire says and his fingers fly across the keyboard. The main images shift from camera to camera rapidly, providing a series of shots of the area around them. Then Zaire stops typing and a single feed fills the entire screen. The Career pack is approaching the place where a tribute girl lays in wait on an outcrop on the cliff side with a crossbow in hand and a quiver on her back. I can't see her face from here. She's hiding in the shadow of a large rock just above her.

"Which one is that?"

"District 9," Zaire says, checking the holographic map. "Rosalinda."

"Rosalinda?" I laugh. "You mean to tell me…that the pretty-face is being considered a threat?"

"Oh of course," Lillian speaks softly. "That was her angle. She played up her beauty, making herself seem shallow, and concealed her talents. There will be a death here, I think. Either one of theirs or hers or both."

Bronze holds up his hand then points just ahead and points out the District 9 girl's trap. A pack halfway concealed in a scraggly bush, the rest poorly covered with dirt and small rocks. He walks ahead with confidence, unaware that he is about to meet his death. Faintly from down the hall, in another room, a male voice screams for his fool of a tribute to turn back.

He kneels down to retrieve the pack and then an arrow pierces his skull. With a sharp gasp he crumples to the ground. Then panic follows. Shimmer screams and runs towards her partner. San throws himself at her, pinning her to the ground with a cry of "No! Don't!"

The cannon fires just as another arrow whizzes down and sticks in Shimmer's outstretched arm.

"Up there!" Annie cries.

Another arrow zooms from the cliff side, missing Annie by millimeters. She springs behind the cover of a rock.

"Run! Run!" Seaborne shouts and bolts out of firing range.

Another arrow fires and Gina barely escapes death. Annie screams in rage and takes off running with Gina. San has abandoned Shimmer, but the District 1 girl gets herself up and races after her, the arrow still protruding from both sides of her arm. Rosalinda does not emerge from the cliff but the Careers do not leave. They crouch behind rocks, waiting and watching.

They are at a stalemate. Rosalinda does not dare come out for she will be revealing herself and the Careers do not want to leave such a dangerous opponent alive.

The red lights continue to flicker.

Shimmer leans against the jagged stone, grasping her wounded arm with the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Annie kneels beside her and surveys the wound.

"I can remove it," she says. "But it will hurt. It will hurt a lot."

"Do it!" Shimmer gasps.

"Someone get me something she can bite down on," San produces a pack of thick beef strips. "That'll do."

Shimmer puts it in her mouth without unwrapping it. Annie brandishes a knife and grasps the arrow carefully and as quickly as she can, saws off the point. Shimmer bites down on the beef. "One…two…" Annie whispers. "Three!" She yanks the arrow out of Shimmer's arm and a faint scream escapes her as her teeth sink deeply into the package, breaking the plastic. Annie snaps the arrow into pieces then pours a bit of water over the punctures then bandages her arm with gauze.

"And why don't Shimmer's mentors send aid?" Zaire murmurs.

"Because Annie has done enough for the time being. When they return to the Cornucopia they can find medicine," I say.

"Precisely."

Rosalinda is beginning to climb down with her shirt pulled up, covering her head. The moment she touches the ground she brings the crossbow up to shoulder level, loading it in the same movement. She keeps an arrow trained on the pack, lowering her defenses long enough to slip the pack over her shoulder then retrieve the arrows she'd shot. The pack watches her with furiously but none of them dare to get within shooting distance since their best distance-fighter is currently out of commission.

Then, with an arrow pointed at the pack, Rosalina begins to back away, glancing over her shoulder every so often. The cameras won't follow her anymore so Zaire returns two a two-shot of our tributes. When the Careers relax, I figure that Rosalinda is out of sight.

"Who was that?" Seaborne whispers but no one can answer.

The pack returns to their camp and Annie works more on Shimmer's arm. No one will be inclined to knock Annie off during her sleep, now. Not when she's proven herself with first-aid.

"It pierced the bone and muscles and there's not much I can do for those. I hope you can throw with your left hand," Annie says.

"Well enough," Shimmer assures everyone.

"Annie's funding just went up," Zaire says and points to the left screen. Indeed it has. The sponsors like a tribute who knows how to heal.

I don't officially get a shift of my own until day five so I spend the next four days alternating between lounging around the Training Center, practicing in the gym, and sitting in the control room learning how to be a mentor.

Occasionally we'll get harassed for an interview and since it's usually just me and one other in the room, I'm given the job of being the spokesperson for our tributes. Though sometimes I'm left in charge of the panel while the other goes out to talk, but nothing exciting happens while I'm in charge anyway.

So far, Bronze, the girl from 3, the boy from 5, both from 6, the boy from 7, the boy from 9, the girl from 10, the boy from 11, and both from 12 are dead. The most recent, the boy from 12, was killed by Rosalinda, who is proving to be a serious contender.

She has generous sponsors. She hunts for meat and gathers berries, but her sponsors send her sweets, fire starters, even a sleeping bag. She is the perfect tribute, much like Finnick. Beautiful and deadly… and maybe the winner. I want to scream at Annie, tell her who they need to kill.

Whenever Finnick is in charge, I'm hard pressed to make sure he keeps an eye on Seaborne and not just Annie. No matter how we feel, we're responsible for both.

The day after Rosalinda kills the boy from 12, I venture down to the District 9 control room. Zaire says we're allowed in each other's rooms so long as we have their permission. I knock softly, hesitantly, not all like a reporter would. After a moment of silence, "May I come in?" I ask.

After another quiet moment, Karu's quiet voice gives me permission and I open the door.

Karu is over forty year's old, dark haired and bronze-skinned like a good portion of his district. He turns his dark eyes on me when I enter then nods once, almost to himself.

"Hello, Dylan."

"Hello, Karu."

"What is it that you want?" he asks tiredly. He must not be getting much sleep, what with all the reporters and the number of times Rosalinda's alarm must be going off.

"I was, um, just curious. How exactly does Rosalinda know how—"

"To work a crossbow so efficiently?" Karu smiles. "You must not watch a lot of news. I have no idea how she knows this. She, possibly, may have spent some time among the hunters who take advantage of the woodlands near the corner of the district. She's too young to be one of them herself, but it is possible. And, from what she told me, she is a quick learner. It's quite possible she learned enough during training. Is that all?"

"Um…yeah. That was it."

Karu smiles. "No hard feelings between us if my girl happens to kill yours?"

"Not between us, no, but Rosalinda and I won't get along so well."

He nods. "Just like you didn't get along with Barlee. I seem to recall him telling me about a brief interaction between you two on the roof."

My cheeks flush and I smile sheepishly.

No one dies on day three and day four is just as uneventful. I feel slightly nauseous when I report to the control room for my first shift alone. After the first few days, the victors usually monitor the tributes one at a time so no one is overly exhausted. Beril is on duty when I show up.

"You sure you can handle this?" Beril asks.

I nod.

"Alright. Remember, if you need anything, use the phone."

"I know. Thank you."

"If you send a gift, be prepared to provide an explanation, even if it seems obvious." She pats me on the shoulder. "Good luck."

Annie and Seaborne are sleeping soundly in their sleeping bags. Shimmer is on guard duty. Just after sunrise, Shimmer's head jerks around and she stares at something.

"Wake up, guys! Wake up! Look!"

San launches himself up, looking around for an enemy. Seaborne jumps to his feet and grabs a weapon. Annie raises her head and fixes her hand around the hilt of her sword.

"Where's the fire?" she asks with a yawn.

"Over there!" Shimmer points to the smoke rising from the forest. Not that far, only a few miles.

Annie seems mildly surprised yawns again. "I figured. Well, should we go? It has to be a trap. No one really needs a fire here. It's probably the Archer."

After that there is no talk of checking it out. No one wants a run in with the _mysterious_ Archer, aka, Rosalinda. Not until Shimmer is healed enough to throw, anyway.

Then another fire starts from a different direction, about the same distance from the camp.

"They're circling us." Shimmer mutters.

"Like sharks." Annie says, then draws her sword and stands up. "We need to go. Now."

"Why?" San asks.

"Sharks like to circle cornered prey before they attack." Annie pulled the pack onto her shoulders. "If we head that way," she points in the direction that a fire hasn't been lit, "We might catch whoever is doing this. But if we go that way," she points towards the first fire, "We can escape."

I enlarge the holographic map and zoom in on the area around the Cornucopia. I can see where the shrubs have been set on fire and just a mile from the Cornucopia, two dots labeled G-9 and G-7 are moving quickly. Rosalinda and a new ally.

The Careers move quickly, trying to keep as quiet as possible, in the general direction of their targets. The girl from 7 is perched on a rock, probably looking for anyone approaching. She must spot them because as the next fire is lit, Rosalinda suddenly darts towards her ally. The Careers speed up.

And then they're there. I can see the two girls crouched on rocks several yards apart. Rosalinda has her crossbow ready and the girl from 7 has several sharp axes.

Rosalinda jumps out from her hiding place and fires. The arrow pierces Gina right in the heart. The girl from District 2 gasps and looks down at the arrow protruding from her chest. Without a word, she crumples and seconds later, the cannon fires. The four remaining Careers stare down at the lifeless body uncomprehendingly for a moment.

And it's enough.

With a battle cry, the girl from 7 jumps down from the rock with an axe ready. The four tributes look up as she swings.

The axe imbeds itself in Seaborne's neck. He lets out the strangest sound I've ever heard. It's something between a scream and a gurgling groan that seems to last forever. He reaches up with shaky hands and, stupidly, yanks it out. His head falls backward and I cover my eyes with my hands for a moment. The girl from 7 screams again and I look up in time to see her fling another axe.

Seaborne's head is flung from his body. The corpse hits the ground as the cannon fires and his head flies towards Annie who reaches up reflexively and catches it. Annie stares down at the decapitated head in her hands, the blank eyes staring up at her, and then she lets out a chilling scream that I know will haunt my nightmares forever. She drops the head and it lands on her boots. She kicks it away with another scream. She stares down at her hands that have some blood on them and then, abandoning her two remaining allies to their own fate, she runs away, still screaming like a banshee.

I'm shaking so hard I can barely hold onto the receiver, let alone dial the numbers to the Training Center. Seaborne's light has stopped flashing; all the screens dedicated to him have been changed to shots and info of Annie. His name no longer registers on the map. He's gone, erased. Deleted.

"Hello?" Finnick answers the phone.

"Finnick…" I gasp.

* * *

**Oh SNAP o_o**

**Ok, show of hands, who saw our special guest? :P**


	25. Madness

**Poor, poor Annie, right? :(  
****So, I entered a writing contest. If I win I get to go to LA and see the movie premiere. *crosses fingers***

**And I just finished Final Fantasy XIII-2. ...I WTFBOOMed at the end. ._. Fuck you, Square Enix. **

**ANYWAY! ON WITH TI!  
**

* * *

The silence is broken when the door slams open and I jump. Outside the room, the voices of reporters shout at us, demanding answers I don't want to give. I glance up. Too late, I realize a dozen cameras are trained on me and have had long enough to record my horrified expression. I cover my face with my hands as best I can and look down.

"Move!" Zaire bellows and I peek between my trembling fingers. He shoves through the torrent of press, knocking away and breaking more than a few cameras and microphones. He actually takes a moment to stamp on the head of one boom. "We'll talk to you after we've checked on our girls!" Zaire roars, holding the door open only long enough for Finnick to get in then he bangs the door shut in their faces.

I'm still shaking when Finnick sits down beside me. "Alright, alright, calm down," he says, even though his eyes are dilated with fear and his skin is deathly pale.

"I…I saw them there…" I burst out. "I knew they were walking into a trap…I…I didn't know what to do…I let him die…I…"

"Oh, Dilly," he whispers and pulls me into a hug, gently stroking my hair. "Don't, don't think that. There wasn't anything you could've done." He turns to Zaire. "How is she?"

The older victor is staring at the screen with a serious look on his face.

"Well, physically she's healthy as a seahorse. Mentally…that's anyone's guess."

Annie has stopped running, finally, and has curled up in a hollow between two close rocks. Her eyes are wide and glassy, her skin white with fear, and she's shaking worse than I am. She stares down at her hands. The hours pass. Annie doesn't move. The anthem plays and the pictures show. She sees Seaborne's picture and dissolves into a round of quiet whimpering and shaking. She doesn't eat. She doesn't set up a sleeping bag. She does nothing to protect herself from the creeping cold.

"We're losing sponsors." Zaire sighs deeply then puts his head in his hands, before saying what we're all thinking. "If she stays like this for long, she's not going to survive."

Finnick and I have scarcely moved in all this time, holding each other and watching Annie. Finnick shudders and I rub my hand up and down his back. "It's not over, not yet. …Zaire, send her a pack of hand warmers like we use back home. They might get some response out of her. She needs to know she's not alone."

Zaire does what I say without question. I watch his fingers fly across the keyboard as he tells the computer what to give her and hits send. Less than half a minute later a silver parachute lands at Annie's feet.

Slowly, she lifts her head and stares at it. After what feels like forever, she moves herself out of the fetal position and picks it up. She inspects the heating packs with an expressionless face then activates two and presses them against her cheeks. She pulls her hood up and retreats into the hollow.

"Oh thank Poseidon." I whisper.

I don't know if she falls asleep. If she does, it's sometime after I do. The last thing I remember is feeling Finnick tighten his grip on me before I slip into unconsciousness. I dream of faceless children under a guillotine. I dream of rat mutations. I dream of Garret's murder and of Pisces'. I watch Sawyer and her successor merge into a horrifying thing that grabs an axe and goes for my head. That's the point when I wake up screaming.

Finnick must have put me down on the bed after I fell asleep and moved over to the plush chair, but he flies out of it and pulls me into a soothing hug, patting my back until I stop screaming. Zaire lets out a curse and the chair squeaks as he sits down.

"Good afternoon," Finnick says quietly, then adds when he sees my confused expression, "you slept through most of the day."

I take a deep breath, shoving the nightmare back, then straighten up and lean away. "How is she?"

Finnick shakes his head. "No change, really. She hasn't spoken except to mutter about heads and flying tributes or to scream at things that aren't there."

"She's gone mad." Beril huffs from the corner. I peer around Finnick and see every other District 4 mentor sitting in chairs on the other side of the room. "Damn shame, too. I liked this one."

"She's not dead!" Finnick practically snarls.

Beril meets his gaze levelly and says, "Not yet."

I decide to intervene. "Have we lost many sponsors?"

"Oh yes," Zaire says. "At least a dozen. We're trying…to keep the rest. But Annie has to do most of the work and she's clocked out. We'll just have to wait and see what she can do."

We give an interview for Annie's sake, telling everyone that we still have confidence in her, and Zaire says that we'll just have to wait. Though, it seems the Gamemakers don't want to wait and see. Because not even a full twelve hours after Zaire utters those words, the shakes begin.

The entire arena begins to quake and tremble with an unseen force. Annie, of course, goes into a panic but she has the sense to run away from the canyon walls and all other large objects that could fall. She crouches down in the open with her hands over her head and waits it out. Not all the tributes are so smart or lucky. The boy from 3 and the girl from 8 get crushed beneath tumbling rocks.

Despite what may be going on inside her head, Annie seems to remember that the sponsors need to be pleased, because she doesn't stay curled up for long. She walks. But I can see nothing in her eyes that dart warily around the canyon. There's no real purpose in her movement. She's just doing it to do something. Her weapon stays in its hold and her face is void. She eats. She sleeps. But she never utters a peep except to whimper in terror.

The girl from 5 is shot down by Rosalinda. The boy from 10 is killed by San. The girl from 7 dies in a rockslide that Rosalinda barely escapes. Six left.

Somehow, Annie's managed to keep a few sponsors. Out of curiosity, I look at the list of names one day, and to my surprise, I see the name _Sol Niko_ …Maybe it's just a coincidence. There could be dozens of people named Sol.

Day eleven, Annie wakes up suddenly to find Rosalinda standing a few yards off with a loaded crossbow in her hands and an annoyed frown on her face. She jumps to her feet with her sword just as Rosalinda shoots. With reflexes only a trained fighter has, Annie blocks the arrow with one slash.

Finnick and I pull our chairs over to the screens and Beril scoots out of the way.

Annie is breathing heavily and her hands shake. Rosalinda doesn't reload her weapon. Instead she tilts her head and studies Annie with a curious expression.

"Ah, yes, I remember you. District 4, right? How you been since Ari chopped off your partner's pretty head?" she asks.

Annie doesn't answer.

"Are you scared, District 4? You know you're going to die, right?" she asks and again, Annie doesn't answer. "Look at you. Aren't you supposed to be cream of the crop? Trained for years to be here, ruthless, fearless, and merciless? Yada, yada, yada… You're pathetic."

Annie shakes her head. "No. I'm not. …I…promised him."

"_Him_?" Rosalinda raises one eyebrow. "Got a boyfriend, do we? Oooh. What's he like?"

Finnick makes a dark growling noise beside me.

Annie swallows and whispers, "I promised her, too."

"Who? Oh come on, now. Don't leave me hanging! The suspense is killing me! No pun intended."

Annie takes a deep breath and with a trace of her old fire she rasps, "None of your damn business, hick."

A fierce rumbling starts to build as the earth begins to shake again. Annie uses the distraction to dart behind the rock she'd been sleeping under and an arrow sticks in the ground where her foot had just been not three seconds before. Annie's breathing heavily and she looks down at the sword in her hands.

"She won't be able to get close enough for short range fighting," I say. "Not as long as Rosalinda has those arrows. Send her a whip!"

Finnick doesn't need to be told twice. His hands fly across the keyboard as he searches through the list of available weapons.

"If we send her this, we might not be able to give her anything else." Beril says, reading over Finnick's shoulder.

"And if we don't she might not live long enough for us to worry about that. Send it!" I say.

Beril sighs and looks up at the screen. Rosalinda is doing her best to walk towards Annie with the ground shaking under her feet. She remains poised, an arrow ready to fire.

Finnick is about to hit 'send' when a loud roar comes from the speakers. There's nothing in their immediate area, but both Rosalinda and Annie are staring down the canyon. Finnick switches to an aerial shot of the entire arena.

An immeasurable amount of water is spilling out of the place that was once blocked by a dam. The quakes must've broken it. The roar of the water is unlike anything I've ever heard in my life. The flood rushes down the mountain, sweeping into the canyon. Annie's out from behind her rock, standing a few perilous feet from Rosalinda, but the girl from 9 is staring in horror at the torrent of oncoming water, paying no attention to her adversary. As if by an unspoken agreement, both girls look at each other at the same time. Then Annie says with an eerie calmness that does not match the panic in her eyes: "Run."

Rosalinda doesn't need telling twice. She turns in the opposite direction of the water and she runs. Within moments, Annie overtakes Rosalinda, but neither girl is worried about killing the other. When Rosalinda trips, Annie actually stops and yanks her up and they keep running.

I enlarge the holographic map so we can track the progress of the water. Already two out of six tributes are caught in the torrent, including the girl from 11 who had made camp by the dam wall. The waterfront is two miles from Annie and Rosalinda and is quickly closing the gap.

When the water gets closer, Annie slows down and turns to the face the rush. Rosalinda does, too, probably figuring Annie knows what to do. Does she? As the water reaches them, Annie launches herself into the air so her legs aren't knocked out from under her. She lands in the water and is immediately swept along. Rosalinda jumps a second too late and ends up falling as the water slams into her.

"Finnick, you're about to break Dylan's hand," Beril mutters and only then do I realize that Finnick is clutching my hand so hard that his knuckles are bone white. But he doesn't let go, he doesn't even loosen his grip.

By the time the mad rush of water finally ends, about a half hour later, the canyon is a third of the way full and water is still flowing in. The Gamemakers could drain the water in a heartbeat if they wanted to. Why don't they?

Night falls.

The girl from 11 shines in the sky before disappearing and the remaining tributes are left in almost utter darkness. Now is a vital time. They must try to stay awake and keep moving so they don't freeze to death.

Annie knows what she has to do. She keeps moving, rolling onto her back when she needs a break. Halfway through the night, she comes across another tribute barely able to keep his head above water. His skin is already turning blue. The boy from 8. Annie has long since lost her weapons, but if she wants to put him out of his misery, she could.

The boy whimpers when he sees her and in a weak, barely pubescent, shuddering voice, "Are you a gift from my sponsors?"

We wait to see what Annie will do. After a moment, she swims closer and puts one slender arm around him. He leans his head against her shoulder and sighs with a smile on his face. She doesn't say a word; she doesn't even give any sign of how tiring it must be to keep the both of them afloat. She has to know he's doomed. She has to know remaining still is dangerous. But she holds him. He shivers, his breaths become slow, labored, shakier.

"Can you take me home? I want my mom," he says. Annie nods once.

"Sleep," she whispers.

It would be a mercy just to kill him, but I think at this point, her fragile mind can't stand any more murder. So she waits for death to make its way down into the canyon, into the water, and pluck the soul from the boy's body and take him somewhere warm and safe. And when it does, the Gamemakers signal the cannon, and she looks down at the body in her arms.

She stares at him for a long minute and tears drip down from her otherwise emotionless eyes into the water. Then she lets his body go and swims away without looking back.

Less than an hour later, a cannon fires and Shimmer's dot fades from the map.

At sunrise, the three surviving tributes—Rosalinda, San, and Annie—are all haggard, tired, and very cold. Annie seems to be doing well enough just swimming. Rosalinda is on a ledge just a perilous foot above the water, nursing a broken arm. San is on the inflatable life raft. We see all this on the portable screen Beril has brought in from the outside. The wall screens show nothing but Annie. The excitement from the previous day has evidently worn off among the audience, because as the sun begins to illuminate the tops of the canyon, the earth begins to shake.

Great swells rise up, crashing into the rocks. San is thrown from the raft. Rosalinda is swept off the rocks. The tributes are batted around like flimsy rag dolls. Thrown under, tossed into the air then shoved back down. Within minutes, San's dot vanishes, his cannon fires, and not long after that, Rosalinda's does to.

And then the quake stops. The waters gradually still and Annie treads water frantically, sobbing and gasping for air. Then the trumpets begin to blare and her sobbing turns to screams of terror.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! I am pleased to present the victor of the 70th Hunger Games! Annie Cresta! I give you—the tribute from District 4!"

I start to laugh quietly. Then I can't help myself. I'm laughing so hard that my eyes water and then I start crying for real. She did it. She's alive.

She won!

Finnick's crying, too. I lean over and hug him and he squeezes me so hard I swear my eyeballs pop out of my head. Beril laughs, "well, I'll be damned."

The hovercraft appears above Annie and a ladder descends. Still breathing heavily, she eyes it with evident mistrust for a long moment, then she reaches over and loops her arms and legs around it. It freezes her into place and lifts her into the hovercraft. The camera shifts automatically to a shot inside the hovercraft where frantic nurses rush to Annie's aid, wrapping her in blankets and carrying her over to the bed.

"Come on, you two, we can go meet her," Beril says.

Still laughing, Finnick jumps up and without much effort; he slings me onto his back like a backpack and takes off out the door with me riding piggyback. Other victors are out in the hallway and they move aside so Finnick can race past. We're acting like little kids instead of nineteen year-old victors, but who the hell cares?

"Hey, watch it you two!" One of the older victors from District 2 shouts when we nearly crash into him. "Get back here! I'm talking to you!"

"Oh, shut up, Brutus!" Beril hollers.

The guards open the doors for us and I think they roll their eyes. On the sidewalks, people clear a path and they clap, congratulate us, and send good wishes to Annie. Finnick makes it to the Center in record time and the crowd that has gathered to catch a glimpse of the craft carrying Annie can't move out of our way quickly enough. As Finnick races by, I think I see Sol's sun-spike hair, but by the time it registers, the crowd has closed up and I can't tell one yellow head from another.

Lillian, Mags, and Zaire are already on the roof and they all laugh when they see the two of us.

"She did it! She did it!" I squeal and slide off Finnick's back.

The noise from the crowd below keeps our euphoria from fading during the half-hour wait and when the hovercraft comes into view I can't help but do a back flip. We have to give the craft room to land and when it does a doctor comes down to meet us.

"How is she?" Finnick asks. And with that, the euphoria of victory fades, leaving behind worry and nasty gut-clenching fear.

"She was mildly hypothermic but we were able to raise her body temperature. Plus, of course, there are the standard malnutrition issues, minor injuries including some sprains and broken bones. We noticed she may have gone deaf in one ear. She should only be in recovery for a few days. Though," he lowers his voice, "it would be highly advisable to arrange for a…mental therapist to visit her before she appears on camera again."

Finnick seems to have a hard time swallowing and his eyes flick up to the hovercraft where Annie's bed is being rolled out. He ignores the doctor and runs to the bed and grabs the hand without any tubes or wires attached. I follow.

"Annie?" he murmurs.

"She's asleep, Mr. Odair," one of the nurses says patiently. "Don't worry. We'll take care of her."

"Come on, Fin." I gently pull him away from Annie so she can be rolled to the elevators.

Annie's first round of medical treatment lasts for the rest of the day. They begin heal her internal wounds but they mostly focus on reversing the hypothermic effects and they carefully drain the water from her lungs. We get updates every hour.

They wake her up around nine pm and they said she freaked out, screaming and hollering and trying to get free. They had to mildly sedate her before Petal could go in and feed her. After that, Annie doesn't go nuts, but she doesn't do anything else, either. She just lies there, they tell us, doing nothing, staring ahead. Completely void of emotion—until the crying. They show us the recording.

On the third day when they've almost completely finished healing her battered body, she's awake for her meal and as Petal's giving her a spoonful of soup she suddenly starts crying. Her arms are free and so she thrashes about as much as possible, pushing away Petal when the Avox tries to soothe her, ripping the tubes out of her arms and holding her head. Then she screams until her voice breaks.

Finnick grips the table so hard his knuckles turn bone white. I rub my hand up and down his shoulder.

"What do you suggest we do?" Lillian asks the doctor.

"Ah, we don't usually do this, but perhaps…one of you should go in next time with the food." The doctor says.

"I'll do it," Finnick says at once.

"Hang on, Finnick. Doctor, I take it that you will be showing the tape you record to the Board?" Zaire says.

"Of course, sir."

"Then, no, Finnick, you won't. Remember what we talked about yesterday?" Zaire meets Finnick's furious gaze and after a full minute of silence, Finnick nods then collapses into a chair and stares at the frozen image of Annie's distressed face.

I swallow. "What's the Board?"

"They are the Gamemakers in charge of the affairs outside the arena. They schedule interviews, determine budgets, parties, tours, and all that good stuff. But it's the rest of the Gamemakers' jobs to make it all come to life. Lillian and I have been meeting with them about whether or not Annie should have to watch the recap of the Games and whether or not her interview should be live. These tapes are evidence that she is not…mentally capable."

"Tryin' to prove she's crazy," Finnick mumbles.

"And you think my presence might keep her calm?" I ask.

"We hope," Lillian says. "Because the Board has suggested that Annie live in one of the community homes in District 4 instead of Victor's Village. If we can prove the presence of people she likes and trusts has a stabling effect, they might not order her to live there."

I nod. "Alright. When's breakfast?"

"Now." The doctor says and presses a button. The screen switches to a live feed. Annie's awake and staring blankly at the ceiling again.

They want me to wear something called scrubs, but Lillian points out that Annie will like it more if I look like I normally do. When the door opens, I walk into the room with the tray and quietly call Annie's name. Annie lifts her head so quickly that it spooks me. "Dylan?" she whispers.

"Hey, Annie-belly." I murmur.

"Dylan." Annie's voice gets louder. "Dylan!"

"Hey, hey." I set the tray on her legs and press the button that lifts her bed into a sitting position then I sit down beside her.

"Get me out! Get me out!" Annie pleads, trying to lift her arms from the restraints. "Get them off me! Get me out!"

"I can't, not yet."

Annie's frame shudders and tears stream down her cheeks. "Did you see? It was…in my hands…staring at me…he was screaming and…" she gasps, moving her mouth like she wants to say more but can't.

"I know, I know." I put my arms around her and she buries her face in my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Annie. I'm so sorry. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to warn you. I'm so sorry…."

Tears stream down my cheeks, soaking the shoulder of her hospital gown. We must be a pitiful sight.

"He won't stop screaming, Dylan." She whispers. "He won't stop screaming. Make it stop…please…" Then she stiffens and pulls away. "Where's Finnick?"

"He's…out there somewhere." I gesture at the door.

"Is he…alright?" She sounds so…calm. So like her old self.

"He's fine," I say. "He's worried about you. Mags is, too. Lillian and Zaire are standing up for you out there."

"Beril?"

"Well…she's…being Beril." I say and Annie giggles.

"Do you want to eat?" I ask.

"Can I feed myself?" She asks hopefully, trying to move her wrists.

I shake my head. "They don't trust you yet, Annie. They think you're crazy."

Annie's face falls. "Am I?"

"Are you?"At the same time, I wonder if _I _am, too. I hear Garret sometimes, but from what I can tell, my hallucination is much, much different than hers.

"I…don't know." Annie whispers then she sobs once. "He's still screaming, Dylan. I don't want to hear… Tell them to make me deaf so I don't have to hear it!"

"Annie, shh. Seaborne's dead. He's not screaming anymore." I whisper. "Do you want soup?"

"Dead…like the little boy…" Annie looks down at the tray on her legs and shakes her head. "I want tuna salad."

I laugh. "Not yet. But I'll make sure you get some as soon as possible. But for now, you've got soup. Looks like its got beef in it."

Annie sighs and sits straighter. I spoon the soup into her mouth in silence for a minute or so, then I smile. "You should've seen us when you won. Finnick, Beril, and I were in the control room. We were laughing and Finnick ran all the way back to the Training Center with me riding piggyback."

Annie giggles. "Piggyback?"

"It was his idea. We were acting like kids. We got snapped at by one of the older victors and people out on the streets were clapping and cheering and made a path for us. Many of them told me to tell you congratulations."

Annie smiles. "I really won…didn't I?"

"You did." I say. "Congratulations."

When the soup is gone and the juice drunk, I'm getting ready to go and Annie starts to sob again. "I want to go home, Dylan. I don't want to go back to sleep. Don't make me…Get me out of here."

"I want to, Annie, but I just can't. They won't let me. I'll be back, though, I'll be back with your food later. They need to keep making you better now. Look at your skin! All of your old wounds are almost gone."

"No. No! No, no, no. No more!" she says loudly.

"You're still not completely well." I whisper. "But not longer now. I'll be back, I promise."

"No, don't go. Please, please don't go." She whimpers.

"I _will_ be back." I say.

"No! Stay! At least…until they make me sleep." Annie pleads.

I nod and set the tray near the door then walk back to the bed and sit near her waist and brush the hair out of her face.

"Sing?"

"I can't sing, Annie, you know that." I remind her.

Annie sighs.

"Well, I can tell you a funny poem I learned last year. Want to hear it?"

"Sure."

"My Bonnie lies over the ocean,

My Bonnie lies over the sea.

My Bonnie lies over the ocean,

Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me."

Annie shakes her head. "That's not funny. The singer must be a…a sailor who misses his girl, Bonnie." Her words start to slur. "He's so far…from her…and he wants…to be with…her again."

"You think so?"

"Mhmm." She sighs then her head falls to the side. Her breathing becomes even and steady, her lips turned up in a small smile. I slide off the bed and press the button to lower her torso back into a sleeping position.

When I return to the observation room I am greeted with applause. I stand there, stunned, for a moment until a nurse comes to take the tray from me and pats me on the shoulder.

"Excellent," Zaire says.

"You had a steadying affect on her," the doctor states. Thank you, Captain Obvious. "If I am called to offer my opinions on the matter of her residency I will testify this. If you would like, I know a psychiatrist who…"

I stop listening to them and look at Finnick. "She was asking for you."

"I know. I saw," he says. "She…really was happy to see you. I thought for a moment there that…"

"I did too," I say wistfully. "But that's better than anything else. Doctor, I _can_ do that again, can't I? I told her I would."

"Most likely, yes," the doctor says.

Annie's face lights up when I return with dinner hours later. She shouldn't have to sleep much more, I think. They were saying the "psychiatrist" will meet with her on our floor because she has "negative feelings" for this room and will not "respond positively" to any treatments here. Well, that's great and all, but I just want to know what the hell a psychiatrist is.

Annie acts like she did at breakfast. For a moment or two she seems completely normal and then she'll slip away for a bit, then she'll come back again. I tell myself that this is how she might be for the rest of her life and I'd better get used to it. She's still Annie. She's just a bit more…fragile.

At least she's not as violent as Sawyer was.

This time they sent me in with an earpiece and a microphone clipped to my bra strap. They want me to bring up several topics to see her reactions. There's the sound of a small scuffle from the other side then Finnick tells me something in my ear.

"Finnick says hi," I say.

Annie freezes then swallows the soup. "Where is he?"

"He's in the observation room, of course. He's there as much as they'll let him be." I say.

"Can they hear what we say?"

"Yes."

"Hi, Finnick." Annie says, looking around for a camera that she won't find. I myself can't even spot them and I know their general locations.

"_Tell her I love her." _

"I can't, Fin." I mutter.

Annie's eyes narrow.

"_Well, tell her I still mean what I told her right before the Games."_

"Finnick says he…still means what he told you right before the Games," I say.

Annie tilts her head to the side for a moment, then she smiles. "Me too. …How…how can…?"

I reach behind my hair and pull out the earpiece for her to see.

Annie's eyes zero in on it and she frowns as the meaning behind it dawns on her. "They sent you in…because…they want to—"

"Annie, they want to make you live at the community home," I say. "We're trying to prove that you can live with the rest of us. You like having me around, don't you?"

Annie nods.

"And you feel safer?"

Another nod.

"That's why," I say, then put the earpiece back. "Hmm. They don't like that I told you. I'm ruining the experiment they say. Oh. Was I not supposed to say that, doc? Whoops."

"You're so bad, Dylan," Annie laughs.

"It takes one to know one. Now, how about that soup?" A furious squabbling in my ears makes me sigh and roll my eyes dramatically, pointing at the bud.

Annie giggles then her face grows sad and she covers her ears with her hands and says no more. I try to persuade her to eat, but she doesn't even acknowledge me for several minutes and even when she does I can tell her mind is somewhere else.

The next morning a statement is released to the public that Annie Cresta might not be appearing at the Games recap tonight. People are disappointed, but what can they do? Annie is released from the recovery ward without ceremony and the psychiatrist's recommended that she not have to wear the tribute outfit again.

The psychiatrist, I found out, is a man from the Capitol. He looks around twenty-five but he sounds older so there is no way to tell. His hair is a normal shade of blonde and his eyes are a simple brown. Medium height and build, not too intimidating, if anything he seems very harmless. All in all, a very average man. He calls himself Dr. Anders, which is odd because he's not a doctor, he is, as already stated, a psychiatrist.

Anyway, they declined his request. Annie is still a tribute/victor and therefore she must abide by the customs. But at least the Board has agreed that Annie should not appear on camera until her session with Dr. Anders and her "reunion" with her mentors will not be videotaped. This is good because the moment she sees us, she runs right into Finnick's arms and kisses him. Zaire clears his throat and we all look away to give them a moment.

Instead of being whisked away by her prep team and Alaina—they were not even present for this, Dr. Anders felt it would be negative for Annie to see anyone outside of her close circle of friends and trusted folk—anyway, she's taken upstairs to the fourth floor for her first therapy session.

Finnick wants to go in with her. I want to go in with her. But we're denied and this doesn't bode well with Annie. She stands outside the doorway between me and Finnick, glaring distrustfully at the sitting room and the psychiatrist.

"I don't want to go in," Annie says.

"It'll be alright," Dr. Anders assures her. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help you, Annie. They want me to help you, too."

"I'm not stupid." Annie spits, eyes livid. Her moments of clarity can come at the most random times. "You don't want to help me. You think I'm batshit. You…you just want to lock me up."

"Annie," I whisper. "I didn't say that."

"No," she replies. "You didn't. I'm not so crazy I can't _think. _But it's true, isn't it?"

"More or less," Beril says from further down the hall.

"Shut up, Farren," I snap. "Annie, listen, this man is trying to help. You have to talk to him, alright? He just needs to find out…some things."

"You don't even know what he wants," Annie accuses.

"Honestly? No. I don't. I don't even know what a psychiatrist _does_."

"We are mental health specialists trained to recognize and understand human behaviors. Unlike our counterparts, we can prescribe medication if the patient needs it," Dr. Anders says.

"I'm not getting medicated!" Annie howls. "I'm not crazy!"

"No one said you are, dear."

"You're thinking it," Annie says, stepping away from us. "All of you. You…you all think I'm crazy. Even you." She looks at Finnick and he lowers his eyes guiltily. Annie laughs once without humor then screams that she's not crazy, damns us all for thinking it, then tries to run down the hallway.

But Finnick stops her, trapping her between his arms and his chest and no matter how she struggles and screams he won't let go until she gives up, going limp and starts to sob uncontrollably. She doesn't protest when Finnick carries her into the room and sets her down in the chair.

"Thank you," Dr. Anders says and Finnick's arm shoots out, blocking the way.

"Let me make this very clear, little man. If you upset her, hurt her, or say anything remotely wrong to her," Finnick leans closer, his expression dangerous, "I will kill you."

Dr. Anders blinks.

"Finnick, that's enough," I say, grabbing his other arm and pulling him away from the psychiatrist.

The session ends a few minutes later when Annie starts screaming and crying and it takes Zaire, Beril, and I to keep Finnick in his chair while Lillian and Mags go to investigate. She returns with the psychiatrist and Mags takes Annie to her room.

"What the hell happened?" Finnick snaps, straining against our hold.

"I believe it's safe to assume she has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Dr. Anders says, undisturbed by the homicidal victor three feet from him. "It's all there. Flashbacks, irritability, and detachment, among other things—she had violent tendencies before and they might come out more often. Anything can set her off. Anything that reminds her of the incident. Seaborne's family, his home, things related to District 7, axes, heads, killings, the arena. The Games themselves." The psychiatrist sighs. We release our hold of Finnick and he slumps.

"And?" Lillian prompts.

"My opinion, and recommendation, is that she not be permitted to return to the Capitol, even if she wishes it, though she probably will not." Dr. Anders says. "And she should not be permitted to live alone anymore. Do you have any residential ideas that won't prompt any negative responses from her? Does she have any living relatives? The community home is an option, though you have all stated your opinions on that matter. However, I highly discourage her keeping residence at the place where you train your tributes. Do not bother denying its existence, I know it is there, and I know that it will trigger memories she needs to keep at bay."

"She's an orphan," Lillian says. "There was a horrible storm years ago and three crews were lost. Annie lost her parents that day and she has no other living kin."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dr. Anders says. "Has she had trouble with grief before?"

"Yes." I say. "But she was only depressed. Never anything like this."

"Hmm." He thinks for a moment. "She needs a caregiver."

"I could take care of her…" Finnick offers.

"Mr. Odair," the doctor says then pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Finnick. I can tell you have strong feelings for the young lady. And I don't blame you—she is quite beautiful. However, do you possess the knowledge to care for someone in her condition? Love, my boy, is not enough."

Finnick clenches his jaw.

"And, though I hate to say it, being a victor yourself…you are probably not the best person for her to live with."

Finnick clenches his fists and stands up. For a moment I wonder if he's going to hit the psychiatrist, then he spins around and punches a nearby vase, the shattered pieces crashing to the floor. He lets out a scream of frustration.

"I _hate _this. There's _nothing_ I can dofor her! _Nothing!_"

"My mother could look after Annie," I say loudly. "She's a good woman and my aunt had something like…what Annie has. And my father brings in enough to sustain the two of them. What he can't provide, I'm sure we could. Or, I think Finnick would want to."

"I don't need money," Finnick says. "I'd give them enough for anything they'd ever need. Anything she'd need."

"Annie has her own winnings," Dr. Anders says and Finnick grits his teeth.

"I would have to ask my mother, but…she likes Annie and I can't imagine why she'd say no." I say quickly and glance at Finnick meaningfully. He sits.

Dr. Anders looks interested. "Do they have a telephone?"

"My parents? Yes."

Dr. Anders nods. "I will give her a call if you give me the number. And I'll have to call the mayor as well and some of the doctors there. This is no simple matter. I will tell them you suggested it. Now that that issue is momentarily addressed, there is another pressing matter. The recap this evening and the interview tomorrow. The latter is mandatory, but the former has been waved before for other…unstable victors. I think with my observations from today, as well as the audio recording, plus the tapes from the recovery room, they will decide to pre-record her interviews. See to it that she stays as calm as possible and well fed. Don't leave her alone for too long. Keep her happy, if you can. But if she cries, let her. Her condition may improve with time. Or it won't. What she witnessed…was horrible. I do not envy her," says Dr. Anders. "Or any of you."

Annie is permitted to skip the recap, but she is deemed stable enough to attend the brief ceremony afterwards to be officially crowned. The rest of us have to make an appearance for the recap, during which time Lillian reads of the official speech prepared by the Gamemakers, stating that Annie isn't well enough to watch the footage, but will be appearing later to be crowned victor. I leave the moment the attention is no longer on me.

While Alaina and the prep team went to be introduced, several female Avoxes were instructed to apply makeup on Annie. Annie's talking to the Avoxes when I show up.

I've never seen some of these women. There's Petal, of course, and an unnamed brunette I've seen around the floor, but the other blonde and the redhead must be from other floors. When I come in they all pause what they're doing, bow respectfully, then return to work.

"Like an official," Annie teases.

When the recap is nearly over a stagehand is sent to fetch us and I walk with Annie down to the stage. She's wearing a simple light pink dress that goes to her ankles and is only a little flattering. The combination of her dress and the makeup makes her seem all wide-eyed innocence. Completely innocent, harmless, and helpless.

She does well at first, but when President Snow arrives to place the crown on her head, Annie starts to tremble. She actually starts to back away from Snow and on the screens I can see that her pupils are dilated with terror. She shakes her head, still backing away from the president, until Caesar walks over and puts his arm around Annie. That alone seems to do the trick and she stops moving. I exhale in relief. The last thing we need is Annie disrespecting the President on live television.

After that, we whisk her back up to the fourth floor and leave the Capitol residents to party all night long. I think Beril stays behind.

Without medicine to keep her in a dreamless sleep, there is nothing to stop Annie from having nightmares. She screams before she even gains consciousness and then she screams even more. I stay with her, perched on the couch in her bedroom, but even my presence isn't enough to keep her steady because she can't even fall back to sleep. So Finnick volunteers to take my place and the Avoxes have to swear on pain of death that they won't gossip in any way about it.

They're mute. Not dumb. They obviously have ways of communication. I've seen them make hand gestures to each other; some so complex I have no idea what they could possibly mean.

Anyway, it's imperative to keep Finnick's affections a secret. If not, they will be spun into a tragic love story that will be all the gossip for a time. Finnick won't be "sold" anymore and if he is it will look horrible. They might just kill Annie to free him up again. No, it's better that Finnick stays a flirt and Annie stays…a mad victor. She'll be put out of mind soon enough but Finnick never will. It's in Annie's best interests that she be forgotten by the Capitol and not be forced into anything she doesn't need.

Annie doesn't wake up screaming again for the rest of the night. In the morning when we go to wake her for breakfast and preparation, we find Finnick in the bed with his arms around her and both of them sound asleep. They look so peaceful and sweet that Lillian shoos us away and closes the door as softly as possible. They join us for breakfast half an hour later and they scoot their chairs closely together. Finnick's arm never leaves her shoulders throughout the duration of the meal.

"Annie," Lillian says. "You know what today is, right?"

Annie stares down at her food for a moment and then nods. "We go home."

"But, before that?"

"…I don't want to."

"You have to Annie."

"No. No." Annie shakes her head. It's only been a couple of days, but already I can tell when she's about to slip. A note of hysteria enters her voice and her eyes get a weird glint in them. "I don't wanna talk. I don't want to talk to him. No more cameras. No more. No more. No more! I wanna go home! I've had enough. I wanna go home. I wanna go home!"

She repeats "I wanna go home" over and over, even after Finnick pulls her close, rubbing her back gently.

"You know, I've a feeling that Annie doesn't want to go to her interview," Beril says from the doorway. She's still wearing her clothes from last night and she's got paint all over her skin.

"Beril Farren, what in the Locker happened to you?" Zaire asks.

Beril pulls a small gun out of her pocket and grins. "Paintball tournament last night. I won."

"Good for you," Finnick says uncaringly.

Beril makes a face. "So, I take it she's not in a good mood? Have you told her that it's not going to be live yet?'

Annie looks up. "What?"

"Yeah," Beril says. "They're just going to film and then edit it. If you don't want to talk about something, just say so and they can edit it out and no one will ever see it. Plus, if you start to feel loco they can cut it out, too. Now, what's for breakfast? I'm hungry."

The decision to have the interview prerecorded was not made with Annie's wellbeing in mind. I think they actually expect her to lose it once so the arrangement wasn't a total waste. But still, the way Beril put it makes it seem like they did it all for Annie.

So, with little more protest, Annie is prepared for her interview with Finnick and me nearby in case she has an episode. The prep team, bless their hearts, seem to be doing their best to keep her off subjects that might upset her. They discuss the little rainbows seen among the water sprays, various colors and their meanings, different ways to prepare certain seafoods, and whether or not proper manicures and pedicures are an important factor of life.

Again Alaina seems to be going with the helpless and fragile angle. Short-sleeve dress with a knee-length skirt made of flowing, soft pale yellow material. On her back is a pair of light green gossamer wings. Her makeup is minimal and her hair has been curled into ringlets and several butterfly hairpins are clipped in. For shoes she's given what look suspiciously like slippers.

"You're beautiful," Finnick murmurs to her as we walk down the hall towards the sitting room.

The camera crews are already set up and Caesar Flickerman sits on the couch in his midnight blue suit talking to one of the crew. The man points us out and Caesar smiles brilliantly.

"Hello. My, my, Annie, you sure had me worried last night. You've got to be careful."

"Caesar," Finnick warns, narrowing his eyes.

"Relax, friend." Caesar holds up his hands and then smiles again. "Hello, Dylan. Beril. Zaire. Lillian. Mags. So, Annie, are you ready?"

Annie shakes her head.

"It will be alright, I promise. Things are going to work a little differently. I'm already not allowed to ask certain questions and this isn't going on air for several hours yet. Come on. Sit down now. It's alright."

Annie looks up at Finnick and he nods encouragingly so she reluctantly follows Caesar over to the chairs. She looks at the cameras nervously.

"They're not going to bite," Caesar promises. "Alright, are we ready?"

One of the crew counts from five to one and then points. Caesar starts by welcoming everyone and informs them that this is a pre-recorded broadcast, introduces Annie, and gets right to it. He asks her the basics, avoiding Rosalinda and Ari, the girl from Seven, as much as possible, but Annie seems to be making an effort to keep calm. But when he asks, "What were you thinking just before you were ambushed?" she starts out calm but quickly gets more and more distressed until it's so bad that we have to move her out of the room and its well over ten minutes before we can get her back in to finish taping the rest. And then, finally, it's over. We pack our stuff. I steal a few shirts I want, and head down for the trains.

Before I can leave, though, a security guard informs me that there is a young man out front waiting to see me.

"This young man," I say. "He wouldn't happen to have yellow and orange hair, would he?"

"He does, miss. He requested that I…jump in front of your vehicle if that's what it took to make sure you didn't leave before talking to him." The man smiles just a bit.

I sigh. "Alright, I'm coming."

It's Sol, of course, waiting out front for me. His face lights up when he sees me and he bows.

"What is it, Sol?" I ask. "I want to go home."

Sol looks down nervously. "I'm sorry…for what happened at the party. We were inconsiderate and Mimi screamed something fierce after you left. She said we were horrible, inconsiderate people. Cinna agreed with her, of course. …She's right, you know. So…yeah. I'm really sorry, Dylan, and I would still like to be your friend. Will you…forgive me?"

I smile despite a silent resolution not to, and then hug him. "For that, I will."

Sol chuckles. "Thanks." And then steps away from me. "Is Annie…doing alright?"

I shake my head and then spit out, "no, she's not. She never will be. She's always going to be crazy and scared. And now I have to go home and watch Annie struggle to live with nightmares haunting her every step."

Sol sighs. "I am sorry…. I…she seemed nice. I wish she hadn't gone…insane."

I smile just a bit. "Hey, for what it's worth, I'm not entirely sane either. Maybe there's hope for us yet."

"Um…Dylan…? Are you…coming back next year?"

"Most likely," I say.

"And for her Victory Tour?"

"Of course," I say and then smile. "I'll see you at the party, Sol Niko."

Sol blinks, "Hey, how do you know…?"

"I saw her sponsor list. Didn't know how many Sols there were in the city so… lucky guess, really. We used most of the money to send her food. Your donation…really helped."

Sol smiles. "It was the least I could do. So…see you around?"

I nod. "Yeah. And Sol, do me a favor. Don't change your hair even if the fashion trends…don't…match. I think it's one of the things that makes you _you._"

The smile doesn't leave my face as I walk back to get in the car, board the train, and it only grows broader as the train whisks out of the city. At least until I walk into the dining room for dinner and see a familiar person at the table munching on a roll.

"Dr. Anders?"

* * *

**And now we move away from the Games for a bit and focus more on Dylan's life and her happiness - yes, I know it seems hard to believe, but Dylan's life isn't going to totally suck. But don't worry, there will be plenty of angst, drama, and fighting among the :D and cuteness. Did i just say cuteness? I think I did...**

**Review/tell peeps**


	26. Trainer

**Hey you lot. **

**Warning: This chapter contains an adorable new character with a bit of an attitude. And I don't mean the boys. Because there are more than a few of them.  
**

* * *

"Annie, what the hell are you doing?"

Annie slides backwards off the tree branch, hanging from it by her knees and smiles at me. "Just hanging out."

"Oh you're hilarious," I mutter.

Three months. Annie's been home three months and she's already doing better. Her episodes are becoming fewer and farther in between, but there are still times when…

Annie grins. "Doc says I must exercise my wit and keep myself happy in order to overcome the traumatic experiences of my past." She makes a face. Publically, Annie thinks the psychiatrist is full of it but in reality she's taking his advice and is doing much better.

She lives in the Victor's Village. Technically, it's my house, but since I took up residence in the training center, it's become her home. My parents live there, too. My mother didn't take much persuading once my idea was proposed. They gave our old house to Luke. Add together Annie's and my monthly winnings plus the money Dad makes, they have more than enough for anything they need and have enough for Luke and the woman he plans to marry to have a splendid wedding. I doubt I'll get an invitation since he still hates me.

Dr. Anders has been staying in one of the guest bedrooms and is helping my mother around the house without complaint. Well, he's not complaining anymore, at least. When he first showed up, the average-looking psychiatrist was so obviously a Capitol citizen. Like a fish out of water. It took him a week to get used to the air and the water, several days longer to finally tolerate all the seafood, and even longer after that to grow accustomed to District 4's way of doing things, including the notion of everyone pulling their own weight.

Things have been running more strictly since his arrival in the District. People talk less. When he walks down the street people avoid him like he has the plague. The training program runs more discreetly. On the day the new trainees reported to the center, the others were given a free day and told to make it seem like none of the children were missing from the streets.

He probably isn't going to tattle, but he does have to make a report and since he is a member of the government, he has to be satisfied by what he sees.

But all of that aside, Dr. Anders is an exceptional head-doctor. He really is doing well with Annie. He's teaching her ways to cope with the flashbacks, ways to control the emotional bursts she feels, and how to explain her condition to others, even if everyone does know about it already. He's already prepping her for the overwhelming obstacle she will face in three months: the Victory Tour.

It can be very stressful on the average victor. But on Annie…she will be comatose by the time we reach the Capitol. I'm sure of it.

But we have weeks to go yet and for now, things are going smoothly.

I still have Garret yelling at me sometimes. Whenever I get into trouble, he's got my back. My ally still, after all this time.

Like when I purposefully sliced my face with a knife a few weeks ago. It left a nice scar, which is what I was going for, but nothing serious enough that the doctors couldn't heal me. It was the first of several self-inflicted wounds. I purposefully cut my arm when I was working on the _Denali_ and Leathan made such a fuss about it that we actually headed back to port early. I paid Brok money to cover what they lost for an incomplete day, of course. After that, I made sure any scars I gave myself were away from Leathan. I shredded up the side of my neck when I purposefully took a tumble on some rocks.

I don't want to get sold like Finnick. People don't want to rent ugly victors. So I make myself "ugly."

Still, Garret gave me an earful about each and every one of them.

After the rock incident I was in the hospital for a day. Dr. Anders did actually sit down and ask me if there was anything wrong that I needed to talk about him. I told him to worry about his patient. Not me. But he's got an eye on me, I think. What will he do if he realizes I hear the voice of my dead ally?

Annie carefully swings herself up then descends the tree. "I'm doing well. Seriously. Nothing…happened yet today."

"Well that's good," I say.

"What are you doing here?" She asks.

"Finnick sent me to check on you." I fold my arms. "He's busy with the boys about to face the Finals for the first time. I'm about to head back and help. Fin wants them to practice against a long-range fighter. I'm the best besides Beril and I'm the closest to tribute age."

Annie lowers her head. "Oh."

I reach out and tap the tip of her nose. "He's a lovesick fool, you know that. And you know why he can't always come himself."

We told her about Finnick being sold annually about three days after we arrived home. She went crazy…er. I sat outside the window as Dr. Anders talked to her about it. Listening to him stumble under her harsh words was quite amusing. We had to wait until later to tell her about the full extent of the problem. What they'll do should he ever refuse. Why I give myself scars.

Annie nods, her eyes on my face, and shivers.

"Hey, now," I say. "You've almost made it twenty-four hours. Don't ruin it now."

"I know, I know." Annie takes a deep breath and then abruptly walks away.

She's trying. That's all we can hope for. Two months ago, she wouldn't have been able to hold anything in.

It doesn't take me long to get back to the training center. I stop by my room in the trainer's quarters to pick up my weapons and change clothes. Except for the ones I left stashed at my house in the Village, all of my old weapons are here, along with new ones crafted for me. I have three bows: a longbow, a recurve, and a straight, plus two dozen knives, ranging from the size of a pocket knife to a dagger, two pairs of short swords, and two sharp-tipped boomerangs. My closet is full of the clothes I brought along with standard ware provided to the instructors, all the shoes I own (which is not much), and most of the larger weapons.

Each room has a standard dresser, mirror, cabinet, and bed, just like the trainee rooms, plus a single-person bathroom. Like the trainees, we are free to customize our space as long as we stay within regulations. I got permission to paint my walls blue to match the sliver of ocean I can see from my window facing the coast. One of my cabinets has been remodeled into a small bed for the little kitty I found abandoned by the docks a few weeks ago.

As I'm pulling on my long shorts, she jumps up onto my bed and mewls once. I smile at her and reach over to rub her ears. She closes her eyes in contentment and leans into my hand.

"Hey there, pretty girl." I say.

She's got fluffy, white fur, gray around her face, fluffy gray ears, a white muzzle, and an extra fluffy gray tail that flicks a lot. I named her Nikie.. Nixie's are water sprites in old stories. It also sounds like pixie and since my cat's small like pixies…well… it made sense at the time.

Nixie starts purring and flops onto her side. When I don't resume patting her she looks up and me with an impatient meow.

"Sorry, Nixie," I say. "But I'm going to be late."

She meows again insistently and rolls over onto her back, paws curled in towards her stomach. I sigh. So innocent, so carefree—her biggest worry is whether or not I'll be around to rub her belly. It's impossible not to envy her.

I slide holsters onto my legs for knives and attach two to my belt. I leave the room with a bow and quiver, eight knives, some out in the open, some concealed, and the two daggers on my belt. Nixie follows, still hoping to receive her belly rub, no doubt.

When I first brought Nixie back I was worried she wouldn't be allowed to stay. There are a few animals that live here, but they're more or less universally owned. Nixie's mine. Marrian told me I could keep her as long as Nixie wasn't locked up in my dorm all the time. They installed a small cat-flap so I wouldn't have to leave my door open. Nixie got on well enough with the other cats and even the old dog that's been here longer than I have. She's an honorary member of the rodent control squad. I just wish she'd stop leaving her kills by my bed for me to find. Not the sort of presents I really want.

The first time she did it I screamed so loud that Finnick and several other trainers ran in to find me perched on top of my dresser, scared saltless over a dead mouse. They teased me for no less than two weeks. The victor who's scared of dead mice. In my defense, it was dark and I didn't know what it was when I stepped on it. And, of course, Nixie is nothing but proud of her catches and doesn't seem to understand that I don't like dead rodents dropped on my floor.

Finnick told me to wait outside the South gym until he called me in. I peek through the open door. Six boys stand with their backs to the door and Finnick is talking to them. From what I can gather, he's prepping them for the next two weeks during which time I will be helping them prepare to fight someone who specializes in long distance fighting. If Annie or Seaborne had been given the training we're going to give these boys, they might've been better prepared for Rosalinda who, in our books, deserved the victor crown and probably would've won it if there had not been a flood. We just take care to not mention that around Finnick.

The gym is probably a hundred meters in length and width—the smallest of the gyms. Mats are stacked in the corner and rows of weapons, from knives to maces, made of several materials, are stashed in shelves and bins along the wall. Other gear can be found in the three closets in the north wall.

"—and you will respect your new instructor just as you've respected me for the past few months." Finnick says. "Am I clear?"

"Yes sir." They all say at once.

"Good." Finnick looks over their shoulders and spots me in the doorway. He motions me to come in.

"This is your new instructor." Finnick says, gesturing to me. Six heads turn almost simultaneously and twelve eyes lock on to me. "…And her cat."

I kneel down next to Nixie who stretches her head up towards my hand expectantly. "Nixie, I don't have time right now. Go on, pretty kitty," I croon. "Go on." I give her a gentle push. Nixie mewls and flops down, rubbing her head on my foot. "Nixie!" I shake her off my foot. Nixie lets out an indignant meow and all but stomps over to the wall where she flops down and starts to groom herself. I roll my eyes and straighten up.

"Now who does she remind you of?" Finnick asks, standing a few feet from me. I shoot him a look and he grins.

"Oh, I'll get you later, Finnick," I say and as I pass him, I mutter, "She's doing fine."

"Good," Finnick says. "Now, they're all yours. Introduce yourself, set rules, you know the drill. Just, please, try not to kill any of them."

I smile and put my hands behind my back. "No promises."

Finnick pats me on the shoulder then walks over to a bench by the wall. After a moment, Nixie springs up and sits on Finnick's lap.

The six boys have been watching the exchange silently but when I turn my attention to them they straighten up and face forward. I walk back and forth along the line a few times, looking them up and down. They should be standing in order of age, the eldest being on the right. The oldest is a boy with curly blonde hair, the second boy has black hair that's straight as a board, third is a slightly familiar boy with rusty red hair and the forth has curly black hair. The other two have curly red-brown hair and nearly identical faces.

"I know you," I say to the boy with rusty-red hair. The boy raises one eyebrow. I put my hands on my hips and tilt my head, trying to place his face. After a moment it comes to me. "Ronan Flit."

Ronan Flit smiles, "Yes ma'am."

"You were reaped before Seaborne took your place." I say, then smirk. "I'll bet you're glad he did that."

Ronan looks a bit uncomfortable. "Uh, yeah."

"Mhmm. And the rest of you? What are your names?"

The oldest is named Dillon, ironically enough. The second-eldest is Erwin. The boy with the curly black hair is Lamar. The twins are Balor and Zal.

"Balor. You're going to wear a red tunic every day. Zal, you'll wear a blue one. I just need to be able to tell who's who from a distance. And to make sure there's no funny business," I give them a warning glare. "I can tell from up close who's who. If you play any tricks, you're gone. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," They both say.

I smile and begin pacing again. "Good. Now, let's get some things straight, boys. I know there are rumors about me. I know some of them are about Finnick and me as a pair. I know some people don't think I deserved to be a tribute, let alone a victor. I also know that you boys have tricks that you like to pull on girls. That's very good and all, but you'd better listen and listen closely because I'm only going to say this once. You will disregard anything contradictory you've heard about me and know this: I am not to be walked over; I am not to be crossed. Respect me and do as you're told and we will have no problems. I am as much of a killer as the next victor and I have no problem with messing up your pretty faces or ridding you of your male attributes and I will do it if you push me."

One of them stifles a laugh.

I snap my head around in time to see Dillon's face smooth back into a blank mask. I keep my own face calm and walk back down the line. When I reach Erwin, my hand flies to the hilt of one of my daggers and I swing it at Dillon's chest. He reacts a second too late and a smooth gash appears in his shirt which quickly becomes stained with blood.

"Was something I said funny, Dillon?" I ask as he puts both of his hands on his chest.

"No, ma'am," he says through his teeth.

"Then why did you laugh?"

Dillon doesn't respond. He clenches his teeth together and looks down at his shirt.

"Answer me!" I shout. "If nothing I said was funny, then why did you laugh?"

Dillon says nothing and I back away. "Get out of here, you bottom-feeder. And don't let me see you back here again." I look over at Finnick and point to Dillon with my dagger."If he's going to show such disrespect then I'm not teaching him."

Finnick nods.

"Get to the infirmary," I say. "And find someone else to teach you. Go on. Get."

Dillon looks at Finnick who inclines his head towards the door. Dillon growls out a sigh and walks out, keeping as straight as he can manage. When he's gone, I face the remaining five boys.

"Does anyone else have anything to say?" I ask.

No one answers.

"Good." I stow the dagger and smile. "I'm glad that's out of the way. So, let's get down to business. I need each of you to arm yourselves according to specialty then get yourselves hooded Shield Skins and meet me in the Landscape."

"Landscape?" Erwin asks. "Why?"

"I can almost guarantee I am faster than all of you." I say. "Plus, I have survival instincts that you don't. In an open space without any cover, I could pick each of you off with ease. My goal is not to defeat you. My goal is for you to defeat me. Because that's what this is about. I'm not here to teach you how to die. I'm here to teach you how to win. Now let's move."

Ten minutes later we've all got Shield Skins—skintight white suits that deflect most basic weapons—and we're heading to the Landscape. The Landscape is a relatively new addition to the program. It's a stretch of wilderness about twenty miles wide and has been virtually useless all this time. So, about ten years ago, the trainers talked to the mayor about reforming it into a training ground. It's got a section of woods, a section of nothing but wild grass, a rocky area, and an area with nothing but sand. It took about three years to complete and then it had to be completely mapped out and scouted by the Peacekeepers to ensure it wasn't a weapon or danger and all that nonsense. Just like they do during their yearly review of our program—they pick one kid from each age group and make them duel to see if they're capable of defeating a trained Peacekeeper. Sometimes they test a few trainers. No one ever allows themselves to win, even if they could. No one's that stupid.

"We'll start in the woods," I say. "Which of you would like to go first?"

Balor and Zal raise their hands at the same time.

"…Balor." I say.

Zal drops his hand looking dejected.

"Alright. The rest of you must stay twenty yards away from us at all times so you don't get hit, but do your best to observe. Balor, walk about ninety meters into the woods and wait for my signal and then try to get me."

Balor nods wordlessly and lopes into the trees while the other boys back out of range.

"G'luck," Ronan calls and when I turn my head, I see his eyes are on me. I turn away and feel a blush creeping up on my cheeks. Thank Poseidon that Finnick and Pisces aren't around to see it. Then I mentally slap myself. Blushing because a boy wished me luck, hmph! He probably was looking over my shoulder at Balor, anyway.

Balor is ready. I pull the whistle out of my pocket and blow. The shrill noise rings through the air and the swordsman ducks behind a tree before the sound fades. I stow it in my pocket and drop into a crouch, slinking along towards the nearest tree sturdy enough for me to climb. Balor peers out from behind the tree and I halt, crouching low in the brush. Balor looks uncertain but then he darts out from behind one tree and takes cover behind another, closer to me. I use the chance to jump up into a tree and pull myself onto a sturdy, partially concealed branch.

From this spot, my bow is the best weapon. I nock an arrow and wait patiently for him to come out again. I see where he's running and take aim, but I don't fire. When he darts out again, I let the arrow fly and it hits him right on the hood of his Skin. The force of it knocks him over but, thanks to the suit, doesn't hurt him. Balor looks at the arrow, stunned.

"You're dead," I say, slinging the bow onto my back. I climb down the tree and march towards him. He holds the arrow out to me. I don't accept it, though, and glare at him. "You're _dead, _Balor. I shot you down. You're gone. Finished. You lost. The. End."

Balor swallows and the hand with my arrow drops to his side.

"Get on back to the others," I say. "But first, you have to tell me _why _you died. What did you do wrong?"

"I…" He purses his lips and looks back at his route. "I was…predictable."

"Yes. You were so very predictable. You made a pattern. I knew where you were going to go and how fast. What else?"

He frowns, thinking. "I didn't keep my eye on you. You were able to sneak into the tree. After that…."

"Exactly," I say and hold my hand out for the arrow.

We don't repeat that conversation to others, but when Zal's turn begins, he has the sense to not do what his brother did. Being a long-distance fighter like myself, his strategy was to get a perch and take me down. I shot him before he could get properly seated in the tree.

"And why did you die?" I ask.

"I turned my back on you," he says. "And I was too slow."

Erwin, a hand-to-hand combatant, charges me head on, swerving to avoid arrows until he got close enough to deliver a punch and I duck, shoving a knife at the skin. "You were good at avoiding the attacks," I say. "But you underestimated me at close-range."

Lamar, instead of charging me, turns and runs the other way. I sigh and decide to bite. In the arena, a tribute would undoubtedly pursue to kill, and this method had worked before. However, he doesn't count on how fast I can run. I'm not as strong as him, but I'm lighter and leaner and, therefore, faster. I get close enough to him and shoot his back. "Never, ever, underestimate your opponent," I warn.

Ronan, who's had four other demonstrations to watch, knows which strategies don't work, as well as a thing or two about how I handle it. He actually gets close enough to engage me in a close-range fight before an arrow hits his Skin, just above the edge. He curses.

The next two days continue on in the same way. One at a time, each boy attempts to strike me first. We move around the woods so the layout isn't the same. They improve noticeably each time and by day three I'm finding it harder and harder to take them down. And then I feel a thump against my chest and I look down in disbelief at the arrow on the ground. Zal got me.

On day four, spirits are high since each boy has managed to take me down in a wooded area. Their excitement fades when they realize we're going to the rocky area. Less cover, harder to run, harder to sneak. We spend two days there. Then on to the grassland and finally the sand where there's no cover. It takes them five days to acclimate to the place enough to beat me. They're excited and I don't bother telling them that if they'd been in the arena, those five days could've been some of their last.

I've been give an extra week with the boys since it took them so long to complete the course. I want them to learn to fight a long-distance fighter at close-range.

But it's a free day today and there's no training for anyone. The curfew has been extended because they want the kids to disperse into the district so the area around the center isn't overcrowded. Dr. Anders must be kept as oblivious as possible.

For the trainers, it's a day of preparation and, if time permits, relaxation. I am not a full-time instructor yet and I already have the next week planned, so I get to do whatever I want. I go to the beach.

The late spring sun feels good on my skin and the sand is warm under my feet. The smell of salt water is strong. I love the beach. I can sit out here for hours and never be bored.

"Hello, Dylan Syle."

I jump, spinning around.

Ronan Flit stops a few feet away. "Sorry. I thought you heard me coming."

"Yeah, well, I didn't," I say, relaxing a little. "What do you want?"

Ronan frowns. "It's a public beach. I can be here without wanting something from you."

I relax completely and smile. "Alright, then, get moving. Go have fun on the beach."

"I think I'll stay right here," he says, sitting down.

I roll my eyes and sigh. "Whatever, Rusty."

"Ah, not you, too," he whines. "Don't call me Rusty."

I shrug and sit down. "Ok. Ronan, then. …You know your name means seal, right?" I laugh.

Ronan sighs. "Yeah. I know. …At least Mom didn't call me Seaborne."

"And she didn't give you a girl's name," I say, referring to my own being one generally belonging to the opposite gender. "I swear my parents named me before I was born and just stuck with it when they found out I was female."

"Dylan isn't just a boy's name. You're not the only girl named Dylan. …Can't think of anyone at the moment, but I'm sure there's another. Someone in the Capitol probably named their firstborn after you."

I shudder. "Gah, I hope not."

Ronan seems nice enough. I don't really know him, he wasn't in my age group (obviously), but from what I've seen in class, he's a good guy. He's really got a shot at becoming a tribute, I think. Brave, calculative, motivated, and why not admit it? He's kind of cute. Not that I'm interested.

"I'm Dylan Syle," I say.

Ronan looks up, slightly confused. "I know."

"I come from Crest and I had four brothers and sisters. Three are dead and one is still alive. My parents are the legal caregivers for Annie Cresta. I'm a Hunger Games victor. I cheated my way into the tribute slot. I have a cat named Nixie. I love ice cream and if you want some, I'm buying."

It takes Ronan a moment to process all that and then he smiles. "Nice to meet you," he says. "What's ice cream?"

Ronan's never had ice cream, but when we stop into the sweet shop in Victor's Village, he recognizes it.

"Is it good?"

"Some of it is," I say. "There were some weird flavors in the Capitol." I point to the mint chocolate chip tub and the cashier gets me a few scoops and drops them into a plastic bowl.

Ronan chooses strawberry ice cream and says, "I love strawberries."

"Pick another flavor, then," I say. "And I'll get you some real ones."

Ronan looks surprised. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you do that?"

I shrug. "Because I'm nice and so are you."

He smiles. "Thanks. But I still want strawberry ice cream."

He really likes ice cream and eats it too quickly. His face screws up and pain and he grunts. "Ow, my head hurts."

I laugh. "Eat a bit slower. It's not a race."

"I'll remember that next time."

There aren't any strawberries for sale at the market. "I'm sorry," the vendor apologizes. "But they're all being used for the mayor's birthday cake. We don't get another shipment for two weeks. Sorry."

"It's alright," I say and give Ronan an apologetic look.

Ronan's just about a bit taller than me. That's what happens when you're a tall girl like me; you're right up there with the boys. His hair is more orange than mine and his eyes are sea green, like Finnick's. He doesn't seem to have any freckles, save for one on the very tip of his nose. I think it's funny.

When lessons resume the following day, I'm at the gym before the others, getting out weapons and making sure we won't get in the way of the other group using South gym, a bunch of twelve year olds who will be awestruck watching us. The boys show up on time, dressed and ready, and they retrieve their weapons before lining up. Ronan gives me a friendly smile and I nod with a warning look. In here, I'm an instructor. He seems to get it.

"Alright, you guys should have an idea of what we're doing today," I say. "Close-range fighting with a long-distance fighter and I've brought in two others to help us. This is Willow. I'm sure some of you remember her."

Willow was one of the girls who trained with me. She'd won in our first round of the Finals and, if she hadn't been hurt just days prior to the reaping, she would've been the tribute in the 69th Hunger Games. But while she was helping the younger kids with weapons, one of them had accidentally lost control and she took the hit. So, Nita, the girl who had knocked me out, was next in line to take her place. I volunteered before Nita could. If Willow hadn't been hurt, I wouldn't have stolen the spot from her.

Willow smiles up at the boys. Her curly brown hair makes her look taller than she really is, but even then, she barely comes up to Balor's shoulders, and he's the smallest of the boys.

"And, since Beril isn't busy today, she's agreed to come and help us." I motion to the dark-haired victor who waits patiently against the wall, fingering a long, curved blade. She looks up when she hears her name and waves.

Balor swallows a little noisily. Tall, muscular, and temperamental, Beril has a rep around this place that's several years in the making. The boys know, undoubtedly, that she's much fiercer than I am. She flips the knife into the air, catches it, then sheathes it and saunters towards us.

She obviously heard Balor because she points to him before she reaches us. "I'll take this one first."

For a moment, Balor looks like he's considering fainting, but then his face shifts and hardens into a look of grim determination. Of course, if he beats Beril he's going to have his own rep. It will give him a good chance in the Finals. Erwin, Lamar, Zal, Ronan and I back out of their way and I remind Beril not to kill anyone. She makes no promises and draws out the knife she'd been playing with before. "Come and get me, boy," Beril taunts.

Balor says nothing, holding his sword at the ready. I blow my whistle and Balor charges. Beril spins out of the way, slashing upward. Her blade rips a hole in his shirt and a thin red line of blood appears on his arm. Balor spins around, bringing the sword with him. Beril ducks to avoid it then, when his body is turning, her hand flies out and strikes him on the neck with the flat side of her blade.

I blow the whistle. "You're dead, Balor."

He curses, glaring at Beril who isn't even looking at him, busying herself instead with wiping his blood off her arm. Balor goes to dress his wound.

"Willow, your turn," I say.

Willow nods, tightening her grip on the long, thin whip in her hand. She surveys the boys for a moment before deciding on Lamar, the tallest. Lamar quickly pulls his curly black hair into a ponytail and picks his spear up from the ground. His smile is confident and Willow and I exchange a quick grin. Willow didn't win the Finals for nothing.

Willow lets the whip coil at her feet and looks Lamar up and down. "I can beat you in ten seconds."

He raises his eyebrows. "You're on."

"I've got ten on Willow." I say, looking at the boys. "Anyone else want in?"

Erwin and Zal both bet on Lamar. I'm about to be a bit richer.

"Come on, little girl." Lamar says.

Willow's face turns red at the reference to her height, but it's not from embarrassment. She's spent years proving that she isn't to be underestimated. Lamar needs a reminder.

I blow the whistle start the stopwatch. Willow draws her arm back. She sends the whip flying and it coils around Lamar's arm and when she yanks on it, he stumbles and falls, his arm still caught in the whip. She runs forward, sliding her hand down the whip, and before he can stand, she whacks him on the head with the butt of it. From her belt, she pulls out a knife and presses it to his throat.

I blow the whistle and look at my watch.

"Ten seconds flat," I say smugly. "You guys owe me."

Willow leans close to Lamar's ear and whispers to him as he removes the whip from his wrist. Then she stands up, kicks his shoulder, and marches to the sidelines. I high-five her when she reaches me.

Beril goes next, this time with Erwin the hand-to-hand combatant. It's a very quick fight. Erwin manages to get in some good blows and Beril will probably have some bruises tomorrow, but she ends up winning. Then Zal, the archer, fights Willow. This one takes longer because Zal is not a close-range combatant and is keen on keeping Willow out of attacking distance. She waits until he fires and is reloading before she makes her move. Running forward, scooping up an arrow as she goes, she flicks her whip towards him and it strikes across his cheek. He actually raises his hand to check the damage and the whip snags around his wrist and yanks his hand down. The fight ends with Willow inches from him and the tip of the arrow she grabbed at the spot between his eyes.

Ronan's the only one left and, as luck would have it, he gets Beril. He glances my way as he heads out onto the floor. I give him a tiny smile.

Beril smiles.

Ronan fights with two swords instead of one. It's a hard skill to master and usually requires one to be proficient with both arms and have amazing reflexes and dexterity plus killer speed. I don't know about the dexterity, but he sure as shells has the killer speed and reflexes. I blow the whistle and Ronan strikes immediately.

Beril is fast. Her speed was one of her saving graces in the arena. She was able to incapacitate and then murder all her allies before they were even fully awake. Her plan would've backfired fatally if she wasn't swift.

But Ronan is as fast as she is. I notice a hint of worry on Beril's face when she's facing me for a moment. He matches each of her strikes blow for blow and is keeping her plenty busy. But, of course, Beril is ten times more experienced than him, and though it takes a bit longer than the others, he is defeated.

From across the gym, the twelve-year-olds stare in awe while their instructor, arms folded, watches us with apparent annoyance.

I tell the boys to take a break and go get water and I call Willow and Beril over.

"Well?" I say. "Who do you think has the best shot? Out of who you fought."

"Not Lamar," Willow says at once. "He underestimated me."

"He was just taunting you about your height," Beril said. "He's not the first one to do that."

"But he still underestimated me. He thought I wouldn't be much of a challenge. He _went_ _easy on me_. Either that or he was trying his best, in which case, he is a horrible fighter."

"I have to agree with Willow," I say. "Lamar underestimated me the first time he fought me, too, out on the Landscape. He counted on being faster and I was able to catch him and kill him within not even a minute of blowing the whistle."

As if by some unspoken agreement, the three of us glance at Lamar at the same time. He brushes his curly black hair out of his eyes and takes a drink of water. He is tall, he is a bit handsome, and no one can deny he can fight. But underestimating your opponents is as dangerous as overestimating them. I don't think Lamar has a chance at winning the Hunger Games.

"So, Willow. Zal, then?"

"Definitely," she says. "He was actually…a challenge."

"Ronan." Beril says. "If not him, then Erwin. Balor lost too quickly for someone this late in the game. Erwin was a good fight. I'm going to have some bruises from that boy. But Ronan was a challenge. If I had to choose the tribute out of these boys, I'd pick Ronan."

I nod slowly and try to figure out why my stomach tightens at the mere thought of Ronan in the arena.

In the weeks that follow, I watch the group of boys I trained with interest. If I've got nothing else better to do, I find myself wandering the halls to find where their current trainer's got them training today. Sometimes I'll sit and watch and sometimes when Finnick is in charge, he calls me over to help him. Other times I work on the other side of whatever gym they're in. Right now they're running through a review course to cover everything once again, briefly, focusing on each boy's individual strength when possible.

The trainees do a good job of studiously ignoring me, as they should. Except for one. They all glance my way every so often, just as I glance their way, a habit we all pick up early on. Always know exactly where everyone is, what they're doing, and if it can be considered threatening to your safety. But his eyes linger more than they should.

Sometimes I glance up and find him staring at me. Usually I look away quickly to hide the heat creeping up my cheeks. One time, though, I didn't, and I found myself locked in his green gaze. Then Ronan looks away and I realize I haven't breathing. I stare down at the ground. What is going on with me?

I get out of that gym as fast as my legs will carry me.

'_You should stay away from him,'_ Garret says.

"Why?" I demand under my breath. "And please, for the love of everything, don't try to act jealous or anything. You're dead. You're a hallucination."

'_He's going to be a tribute, Dylan. You know he is. You know the odds of his survival. Just as I knew mine.'_

"He's trained. He has a good chance."

'_Maybe. But what if he doesn't win? I don't know if you noticed, but every guy you get an attachment to ends up either dying or hurting you. Well, except for Finnick, but he and I are the same, so, it doesn't matter."_

"Why…are you always right?" I whisper, feeling tears sting my eyes.

'_It's why I'm here.' _He says. _'That's why you hear me. You think you let me die. You haven't trusted yourself since then, Dylan. Even if you haven't admitted it, you know inside that it's true.'_

I exit the Training Center and head towards Crest and the beach.

'_But you listen to me. More than you listen to anyone else. Even Finnick.'_ Garret says. _'You trust me. You believe me. You were falling in love with me before I died.'_

I stop mid-stride and my mouth falls open.

No. It…_can't_ be… I _didn't_. …Did I?

It made no sense and yet, at the same time, it made perfect sense. I was falling in love with a boy who was falling in love with me, who was murdered by another boy who was already in love with me. And in the end they both died and I was left alone, hearing the first boy's voice in my head. It's bizarre—something that belongs in a story or on television. Dear Poseidon, if the Capitol ever put this together… it probably _would_ end up a story on television.

'_I'm sorry that I hurt you,' _Garret says. _'But you need me. You can't survive on your own.'_

I press my lips together and tears finally begin to roll down my cheeks. I don't even realize where my feet are carrying me until I see Victor's Village looming ahead. I swallow. I know where I'm going.

I walk inside without knocking as it's still my house. Sort of. I walk through the hallways and Mom steps out from the kitchen.

"Dylan!" She says in surprise. "What are you—what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say softly. Nothing I can talk to her about anyway.

"You're crying."

I blink and wipe the condemning evidence away with the back of my hand. "Where's that damn psychiatrist?"

"Right here," Dr. Anders appears behind Mom. "Jennifer here was just telling me a story about you and Annie from your younger days. From your stance and tone I can tell this isn't just a pleasure visit. Though, with me, I doubt it ever would be." He chuckles. "What can I do for you, Dylan?"

"I need to talk to you," I say.

Dr. Ander's frowns a bit. "Well, I suppose we could talk. The sitting room, I think. I apologize, Jennifer, but I think your daughter's problem is somewhat urgent. I should like to hear the rest of that story later, though."

"Of course, but…"

"Please, it'll be alright. Nothing you really should worry about, I think," Anders assures her and I shoot him a look. Does he know?

Mom purses her lips, wanting to debate further, but surrenders. She gives me a worried look then retreats into the kitchen.

"Did you have to say urgent?" I grumble to him. "She worries about me enough."

"She should," he says seriously. Believe it or not, his accent is becoming less noticeable. Our cadences are growing on him, I think. Maybe that's why I'm allowing myself to talk to him.

He closes the door of the sitting room and I take the seat Annie usually occupies. He takes his.

"So," he says. "Am I finally going to hear about why your mutilate yourself?"

I frown. "Oh I think you know, Anders."

"Some form of…outlet of pain?" he guesses.

My frown deepens into a scowl. "No! That's just completely—"

"Now, now, don't get angry with me," he says. "You'd be surprised how many people your age and younger cut themselves to deal with pain. But you say this is not the case with you. Why is it, then?"

"I didn't come here to talk about that."

"Maybe not," he says. "But someone hurting herself on purpose usually means something is wrong."

I bare my teeth at him. "I don't want to get rented off every time I'm in the Capitol. I don't want any of those rich sons of bitches buying me for sex or whatever it is they buy Finnick for."

Realization dawns on the psychiatrist's face. "Ah, I understand now. You think that by making yourself less physically appealing you will escape the fate of your friend Finnick and others before you?"

"It's worth a shot," I say. "I haven't been approached yet. I'm not too young or anything."

He nods. "Well, pardon me, Dylan, but you were never exactly… classically beautiful to begin with. Pretty, yes, in your own way, even more so with Alaina's touches, but on your own, not enough to meet the, shall we say, the criteria. I do not think they will approach you, even without knowing of these new…additions to your face."

His words are like a weight being lifted from my chest. I inhale and exhale in relief. I smile at him, unable to express my gratitude in any other way.

He smiles back. "Now please, Dylan, since your self-preservation actions are not what you wish to speak to me about, tell me what is."

My throat feels suddenly dry. "You have to promise me that you will never, ever, _ever_ tell anyone what I'm about to tell you."

"There is doctor-patient confidentiality. Unless it is something that is a threat to Panem, I will never tell. You have my word." Anders looks serious but it's his voice, completely and total honest, that allows me to speak, despite the quiet warning in my head.

'_Be careful.'_

I take a deep breath and slowly, quietly, admit the truth. "Ever since he was murdered, I've been hearing Garret speak to me," I say. I glance up. The psychiatrist only seems mildly surprised. "It's not all the time. Whenever I'm feeling extremely sad or angry or when I'm in danger or on the verge of doing something dangerous. Sometimes it's when I'm feeling lonely. It happens less and less now, but he…still speaks to me. He just did, actually, a few seconds ago."

"What did he say?"

"'Be careful.'" I inhale and exhale slowly, then start to tell the psychiatrist more. What Garret said about me needing him—why I hear him. What it's like to hear him. What he says to me. Lillian's theory about Garret falling in love with me. Me falling in love with him. Almost as an afterthought, I mention what Garret said about Finnick.

By the end, I'm crying. "Please…please tell me I'm not crazy. Not like Annie."

Dr. Anders is quiet for a few moments and then he says softly, "You're not crazy. Not as crazy as Annie, at any rate." He gives me a gentle smile. "If you want a term for it, I'd say you're only a little unstable, but all victors are unstable in some way. Now, Garret is…I think…your conscience. He's you. He's the one who will keep you on the right track. The difference between you and Annie is that she cannot distinguish reality from imaginary as far as her hallucinations go. When she hears the screaming, to her, it's as real as what we say now. When you hear Garret, you admit to yourself that he isn't real, that he's just a figment of your mind. Your mind created him and it can send him away if you so wish."

"That's what I want," I say. "I don't want to need him. I want to learn to live without him. I always feel…guilty when he talks to me when I'm around other people. They look at me and they think I'm mostly normal…and I've got a dead guy talking to me. Finnick especially. I want to tell him. But I'm afraid of what he'll think."

Anders tilts his head to the side just a bit and looks at me almost sympathetically. "Do you love him?"

I jerk up. "Who?"

"Finnick Odair."

"I…no. I don't love Finnick. Not in the way you're implying, at least. I love him like a brother."

Dr. Anders nods again, seemingly relieved. "You are close to him, though, yes?"

I nod. "He's helped me before. When I was sad. Held me when I cried and all that. I've ended up doing the same recently. You know, for Annie."

He smiles. "Like Garret tries to do."

"I…I guess so." I wipe my eyes. "I loved hearing Garret before. Especially in the arena and on my Tour. I _needed _him then. I would've gone crazy without him. But now…I don't think I need him. Not the way I used to. And…I don't want to need him that way."

"You said that you listen to him because you trust him? More than you trust yourself? Well, then, I think it's simple. You need to learn to trust yourself again, Dylan." He says. "You've already taken responsibility for your actions. You've felt the guilt; you've sought forgiveness where you needed it most, except for one place. You have to forgive yourself. You did not kill him. Accept it. He's dead. Accept it. You are a strong, brave young woman. You are smart. I cannot get rid of Garret. No one can but you."

"How?"

"Let him go," he says. "First and foremost. I understand you are emotionally tied to the boy. You have to completely separate the voice from the young man. Accept that the voice is _not _Garret, but your own mind speaking with his voice. Try to think rationally on your own when you are angered. When you are alone or distressed, seek out Finnick or anyone else you can confide in and find comfort in. Don't retreat into your mind. It may not happen today, or tomorrow. It could take a week; it could take a month or a year. More than a year. You will struggle, but you will succeed. If you'd like…I could meet with you ever so often to talk, the way I have scheduled meetings with Annie."

I shake my head. "No. If I need help…I'll come to you. Other than that, I'm going to do this on my own."

"Not completely on your own," Anders says. "I am a stranger, but Finnick and your friends, your family, they are not."

"Thank you," I say, rising to my feet. "You don't know how much this means to me."

"My pleasure," he says. "It's what I'm here for."

I head for the door feeling happier than I have in a while. Before I open the door, though, I pause and look back. "Anders?"

"Yes?"

"How will I know when I've succeeded?"

"When the voice you hear is your own."

* * *

**Aww. Isn't Nixie the most adorable little kitty? *snuggles***

**So, yes. Meet Ronan. Or, well, reintroducing Ronan, I guess. He was mentioned during Annie and Seaborne's reaping. **

**Review/rate/all the good stuff**


	27. Realization

**Well, I meant to post this on the 23rd in honor of the movie, but after we got home from seeing it in Imax, I went to my friend's birthday and by the time I got home I was worn out and my ears were acting funny because of the differing pressures between the ground and the 48th floor. ...So yeah.**

**HOLY SHIT THE MOVIE WAS AWESOME! I won't spoil, but one thing that really bugged me was that when the Careers were brought up, they only mentioned Districts 1 and 2. Yet in the books, 4 is a Career district as well. Which means, Finnick isn't a Career in the movies. GARY ROSS. Y U NO BE NICE TO D4? **

**And I cried. God dammit, I cried when Rue died. And through the subsequent D11 scenes... **

**Anyway, here is chapter 27. We've got less than ten chapters left guys!**

* * *

"Hello, Miss Syle."

I turn spin around in surprise. I knew someone was walking behind me, I just didn't know _who._ It's not a free day. What in the sea is he doing here? Did he see me leaving and follow me?

We're standing on the road that leads to Crest. I'm going out with the crew today. Ronan should be in his dorm room either dressing or swimming into consciousness. He should not be standing here talking to me. He knows it.

"What do you want?" I ask.

He smiles, a half smirk, half teasing grin. "It's a public road. I'm allowed to be here without wanting something from you."

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Ok, then, let me rephrase that. What in Poseidon's name are you doing here, Mr. Flit? Aren't you are supposed to be getting ready for another day of training."

"It's my father's birthday. I've got the day off to visit him."

"Oh." I say then turn around and resume walking towards Crest. Ronan jogs up to walk beside me.

"And what about you, Miss Syle? What are _you_ doing here?"

I lift my chin. "_I _am a victor. I am allowed to go wherever I wish. …Today I am going out with the crew of _Denali_. The Captain says I'm always welcome onboard whenever I feel like doing some honest work."

Ronan gives me a funny look. "You have all the money you could ever need…and you still choose to work?"

I nod. "I love it. I love the crew. I love the work. I love the water. I love the nights down in the barracks, drinking rum and brandy with the crews and singing horribly until the Captain comes down to threaten us with keel hauling or walking the plank unless we shut up."

He laughs. "Really?"

"Yeah," I smile. "Did you ever work on boats?"

"When I was a kid," he says. "I was a…deck swabber."

"What boat?"

"_The_ _Skylark,_" he says. "I never did like it much. I was just a pest to most of them."

"I didn't work on the _Denali_ when I was a kid. I worked for a company run by an older couple. They died while I was in training. After I got kicked out I started working for Brok and he sent me on _Denali_. The crew, they loved me. They even let me in on the small gatherings below decks. Most kids don't get to do that because they drink alcohol down there. They only recently let me start drinking. But I never have too much. I don't want to wake up one morning acting like Haymitch Abernathy. The victor from 12?"

"Oh, him," he makes a face. "Yeah, I wouldn't want that either."

"So, where are you headed, Ronan?"

He grinned. "You called me Ronan. Not Rusty."

"Yes, yes I did," I say. "It's your name. And, for sea's sake, call me Dylan. None of that Miss Syle stuff. You make me feel older than I am. Jeez…I can't believe I'll be twenty soon."

"Hey, I know how you feel. I just turned seventeen."

"Seventeen is not old. And you didn't answer my question."

"Oh. I'm going to Gull Cove."

My eyes widen a bit. Gull Cove is _the_ slum town of District 4. It's built right next to a cove where a lot of gulls make their nests, if the name wasn't any indication. I've never been there myself. From what I've heard, the place is always littered with feathers and stinks of the birds. But, at least, they get good gull meat. Then I frown.

"But your hair's red."

He frowns, too. "So? Yours is, too."

"Red hair runs in Sunrise. You know…upper class," I say. "My dad's from a Sunrise family."

"And mine couldn't have been?"

"Well…I mean…Gull Cove is…"

"A dump compared to almost every other town, yeah. But we're no more isolated there than you were in Crest. You mother was from Crest, right? Well, how'd she meet your dad if he was from Sunrise?"

I shrug. Sunrise is the easternmost town in the district, the first place to see the dawn every morning. It's where possibly the richest people in the district, excluding victors, live. If you have red hair in District 4 then chances are you have roots in Sunrise.

"So why couldn't my father have met my mother even though she's from Sunrise and he's from Gull?"

I shrug. "I see no reason. Sorry, it's just one of those things…"

"I get it," he smiles. "But yes. I've got Sunrise roots, just like you. Though I'd rather have your shade of red than this one. It's much prettier."

I smile. "Oh I don't know. I think it's one of the things that makes you…_you._ That's what I told Sol. Believe it or not, it was your hair that made me remember you from the Reaping."

"Who's Sol?"

"My…friend in the Capitol." I say with a small smile. "I got lost last year while I was out and he got me back to the Training Center. Then he took me out and showed me around the next two days. Oh, that reminds me. He's going to be at Annie's victory party in the Capitol—he sponsored her for me."

"That's nice." Something has entered his tone and I decide to shift away from Sol. "So. Do you think you have a shot at being the tribute?"

He smiles. "You tell me."

"I'm asking you."

"Fine. Yes, I do. More than Balor does." We both laugh. "But what do you think? I mean, you got to assess me."

I bite my lip. Is it against the rules to tell him? Oh, well. As long as he doesn't go telling everyone what I said. "Alright. We think you have one of the best chances. But that stays between us."

He smiles. Something about it makes me fiercely glad I've already been in the arena. Ronan has a good chance of winning the Hunger Games. If he is to be our tribute then I pity the other kids chucked in with him.

"Well, we'll see," he says. "Will you be there? At the Finals, I mean."

One round of the Finals always takes place just after the Victory Tour. "It's two weeks after we get back from the Capitol, right?"

He nods. "Yes."

"Yeah, I'll be there. Cheer my pupils on and all. Do you know who will be in the Finals?"

"Well, all five of us, of course, and two guys from the last round."

"Five? What about Dillon?"

"Oh, him. He got kicked out."

My eyes widen. "He did? For what?"

"You." He says. "You refused to teach him for disrespect. You were our instructor. It was decided by someone else that he violated rules and was given the ol' heave-ho. You should've heard him, swearing like a fiend as he packed."

I laugh, despite the situation. "Wow. I didn't mean to get him booted."

Ronan shrugs, "One less competitor. I'm not complaining."

We are getting close to Crest. I can see the buildings, growing larger with every step we take. I smile just a bit at the familiar town.

I realize how much I like having Ronan walk next to me. I've not been glancing around as much. I feel…safer. Like I have an ally again. I need an ally. The arena has made me that way. First it was Garret, then it became Finnick…and now…?

"Want to come on _Denali_ with me?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

"I, er, I can't. My dad's birthday…remember?"

I hit my forehead with my palm. "Ah, crabs. I forgot. Sorry. Never mind, then."

"Maybe some other time?" he suggests. "There should be a free day sooner or later."

I smile. "Sure. I mean, yeah, that will work. I'll meet you at the main doors at six on the next free day. Bring clothes you can work in. I'll talk to Brok and Irwin."

It's Ronan's turn to smile. "Great."

"Well, this is where we part," I say, pausing at the three-way split before us. One way heads towards Sunrise, one towards Crest, and the other leads to the general direction of Gull Coast. Plus, of course, the one we're coming from, that leads to Victor's Village.

"Yeah." Something about his frown reminds me of Sol the day I met him. Standing outside the Training Center, hands stuffed in his pockets, wanting to accompany me further but knowing it's forbidden. Ronan is disappointed.

"If you want…we could meet here later and walk back together," I suggest quietly, feeling suddenly shy.

He perks up a bit. "What time?"

I look at my watch. "We don't dock until a bit before sunset today…so…eight-thirty?"

"Alright," Ronan nods. "I'll try to be here by then."

"If it'll be trouble—"

"No, no, it won't be. I'll just tell Ma and Dad that I've got to be back by a certain time because it's so close to the Finals."

I grin. "Alright. I'll see you this evening. Bye."

"Bye," he says.

I feel his eyes on me as I walk away and a sharp heat in my cheeks tells me I'm blushing. Then I mentally scold myself. I'm being stupid. Ronan is going to end up a tribute and might die in the arena. I shouldn't get attached. But this, of course, makes me smile, because I scolded myself without Garret. Progress.

But that doesn't stop me from looking back. He's still standing there at the split, watching me go. I smile and he raises his hand in farewell. My smile widens and I look away so he doesn't notice the new redness in my cheeks.

Oh, crabs. I'm in trouble.

Leathan is pleasantly surprised to see me when I drop down next to him to do the morning inspections. He gives me his standard good-morning hug accompanied by a friendly kiss on the cheek that, today, I don't enjoy, but I don't say anything. Once the inspections are done, he goes to inform the Captain that I'm onboard and I sit on the railing with my legs dangling over the side, watching the boat glide through the smooth water.

I imagine what it must've been like for Ronan growing up in Gull Cove. I've never been there myself, but I knew some girls during training that were from there. They say it stinks and is dirty. The worst place to live in the district. Worse than some of the inland places, like Dune, the farming town. Those who live in the Cove don't have enough money to afford a choice.

I look up, out to sea. Vast, open: freedom.

I can see why Ronan is drawn to the prospect of winning the Games. If he does he can move his family out of the Cove. I wonder if he has any siblings. Maybe there are professions outside of the fishing industry that they'd like to move to but can't afford the apprenticeship.

Maybe there was something Ronan wanted to do that he couldn't afford. I'll have to ask him. Maybe instead of going in as a tribute, he could stay here and I could pay—

"Well, fillet me like a fish!" Leathan says from behind and I jump, quickly slinging my legs back over the side so I don't fall.

Leathan looks surprised and a bit amused. "Like a fish…" he repeats quietly. "I saw that, Dylan."

"Saw what?"

"That look on your face. Salty seas, girl. I never expected to see that on you."

"Quit talking in riddles, Lea," I snap.

Leathan grins and sits down next to me. "You were thinking about someone. And I'm going to guess…that someone was a handsome male around your age."

My eyes bug out of my head and my cheeks flame. "How…how did you know…?"

"I've been around a while. I see things."

I frown. "Leathan. You're only three years older than me."

"Well, still. So I'm right? Wow. I never expected _you_ of all people…"

I wring my hands together. "I…I don't know. He's nice and he's handsome…but it's not a good idea…and I don't know…"

"Hey, I don't blame you, girl. Finnick is pretty hot. Not," he adds quickly, "That I'm into my own gender or anything…"

"What? Finnick? What are you talking about?"

Leathan looks confused. "Don't you…I mean…I thought you liked Finnick. That's the rumor."

I grit my teeth and slam my hands onto the railing. "Stop it! Would everyone just _stop it_? I am not in love with Finnick Odair! I don't want to be in love with him. There is nothing like that between us. He is my friend! Just like you, Leathan! Am I not allowed to have a good friend that is of the male gender without him automatically being my boyfriend?"

"Hey now, sea cat, calm down." Leathan holds up his hands. "I'm just sayin' what I hear. Sorry, Dil, I didn't realize…"

I huff and look away, but my anger is already fading. Gossip is entertainment among sailors, and a good form of trade. Got some gossip? Have a pint. No surprise that some of the younger crewman on board have something to say about me.

"Leathan, if you promise to keep this to yourself…you have to _promise_."

"Alright. I swear on my honor as a sailor."

"Oh then this secret is as good as told," I mutter. "Finnick is in love with someone already. He's been in love with her for years. And it's not me." I smile at Leathan. "And I'm glad for that. She loves him, too, and she's from our district. Not some Capitol blowfish."

Leathan's eyes glimmer. "Wow. Ain't that sumthin'? …Wait, hold your anchors." He folds his arms. "If it's not Fin you're moonin' 'bout, who is it?"

I take a deep breath and look around. Leathan leans closer to me and I murmur, "It's…a boy in the Trials program. I was the instructor for his group a few weeks ago. He's a quick learner, very skilled…and of course, he's handsome, sweet, and he's got a sense of humor. But…he's got a very, _very_ good chance at becoming the next tribute. I don't want to get attached to him and then watch him die in the arena. I've lost so many that I love to the Capitol. Rilee, Evan, Lana, Garret, Pisces, Sawyer, who I didn't love, but she was my friend, and I practically lost Annie to them, too."

Leathan has completely sobered up by the time I'm done. "Oh. Wow, girl, you got too many urchins in your net."

I sigh. "I know."

He gently puts his hand on my shoulder and rubs it gently. "So, who is he?"

I swallow. "Remember the boy who was reaped last year? The one Seaborne volunteered for."

"Wait a second," he frowned, trying to remember, then snapped his fingers. "The kid with that reddish hair? Yeah. Wait, you mean him?" Leathan nods to himself. "Yes, very handsome. Not that I'm interested," he adds a little too quickly.

I sigh. "Lea, I know darn well you have a preference towards males. Don't try to hide it. You didn't even give half a hoot when I joined the crew when I was seventeen. I was a half way pretty female around your age, working right next to you, and you didn't even blink."

Leathan looks a bit uncomfortable. "We're not talkin' 'bout me right now."

"Fair enough," I say. I don't blame him. It's kind of frowned upon, but Leathan hides it well enough. "But yes. That's him. Ronan Flit is his name."

Leathan nods. "Too many urchins," he repeats. "You can't just wait for them to fall out. You gotta remove some of them yourself."

"I'm working on it," I mumble.

We dock around eight so I stop by Brok's office to get clearance for bringing Ronan some day soon. My old boss has no problem with it. An extra pair of hands is an extra pair of hands, and I assured him that I could give him the money to give to Ronan for his days work.

I arrive at the crossroad a bit early and instead of standing there out in the open, I retreat into the long grass to the side of the road with a perfect view of the path Ronan will walk down. I see him coming about ten minutes later, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking completely relaxed. I smile just a bit and pull the knife from my belt. When he gets close enough to the cross, I straighten up just a bit and throw it. The knife whizzes through the air. Ronan's head snaps up and I see his eyes go wide, but the knife sticks in the ground in front of him. Immediately he's alert, dropping into a half-crouch, with his hands held defensively in front of him. I straighten up and walk out of the grass. He sees me, scowls, and straightens.

"What in the sea was that for?" he hollers.

"Always be prepared for anything," I say. "That's the number one rule. Get my knife, will you?"

He does and he still looks a bit angry when he hands it back to me. I smile at him as I slip it into the sheath. I sweep my hand towards the road home and, with a small smile tugging at his lips, we head off.

"Why do you even have that?" he asks.

"Eh, it's just one of those things."

"One of what things?"

"One of the things the arena does to us," I give him a serious look. "I lived for nearly a month, knowing that my next step could be my last. I can barely leave my bedroom without one on me somewhere. I've tried. I just…_can't_."

"Oh, I see," he murmurs. He looks like he wants to say something else but he doesn't. We walk in silence for a few minutes and, yet again, I realize the urge to look over my shoulder with every step isn't as great.

"Brok says you can go out with us next free day," I say. "You'll even get paid."

His eyes brighten. "Really? What will my job be?"

I smile. "Well, you won't be swabbing, that's for sure. We'll see on the day of, I guess. How'd it go with your dad?"

"Good." He smiles. "My mother and my little sister managed to save up enough to buy him the new tools he's been wanting all year. He's a carpenter. He builds boats. Nothing big like the business fishing boats, though. Mostly rowboats and stuff. He does make furniture, though, and some amazing jewelry."

"If your dad makes so much…then why do you live in the Cove?"

"Dad likes it there, for one," he says. "Two, my dad's family's business has been in the Cove since before the Dark Days. He's the only one that the denizens can actually afford. Sure we don't have the best living accommodations, but we're doing some good."

I begin to see Ronan in a new light. "What about you, then? Why do you want to be a victor? If your family doesn't need the money…"

"Why did _you_ want to be a victor?" he asks. "Surely your family had enough money as well."

"We did," I say quietly.

"Then why?"

"I…I wanted…to win," I say. "I wanted to win for the…the glory of winning. Though, of course, the money was a motivator, too. We had enough to survive but not enough to _do._ My sister, Lana, wanted to make pottery. My brother, Evan, he wanted to be a teacher. Luke was happy being a fisherman, but with my winnings, I could help assure his security, too. But he hates me now and he probably won't even invite me to the wedding, never mind accept my money. And my mother…she loved to make clothes. She designs beautiful outfits and sometimes she has enough to make them, sometimes she doesn't. I've been giving her money to do it."

"I want to be a victor…because I don't want to be a carpenter."

"What?"

"If I become a victor then I don't have to work. If not…I'll inherit the family carpentry business. But I don't want that. Tradition says it goes to the eldest male and down the line of males. Not females. It's stupid, but that's how it's been for…dang, I don't even know how long."

"You decided that when you were ten?" I ask softly.

"No, when I was twelve." He says. "My sister was ten. But by then she was already making the most beautiful little jewelry pieces. She's got the right hands for it."

"So do you," I say. "It's why you can wield the dual swords. Not many people can do it. I barely can."

There's a bit of pride in his smile. "Yeah, well, I still don't want it. Sera does. That's why she dropped out early on like I was supposed to."

I grin. "Let me guess. Your dad told you to stay for a year or two and pick up some skills then drop out before the Preliminary?"

"Yeah, pretty much," his smile grew wider. "By the time I was twelve he was telling me to drop it. Then I moved into the center. What could he do after that? He hinted several times today that he is ready to resume my apprenticeship when I get bored of this." Ronan gestures in the direction of the training center.

For once I am immensely glad my mother never tried to force her seamstress skills on me. I remember her asking once or twice, but I never wanted to, and that was that.

"So, do you think Sera will get the business?"

"If I win then he practically _has_ to give it to her." Ronan says, then adds as an afterthought. "Or if I die."

I close my eyes. I don't like that idea.

"Sera—I was talking to her earlier," he says. "She's been helping Dad every day in the shop. She actually made a chair on her own. It got a good price, too. …Stupid traditions."

I widen my eyes. "She made a chair? Wow. Color me impressed. The best I can do is carve little trinkets and stuff."

"I know," he says. I blink in surprise. "I saw you. During your Hunger Games, remember? You made that little fish and the other thing."

"Oh!" I say. "Yeah, those. That was a cog, by the way. Factory thing."

"For Garret." It's not a question.

"Yeah," I murmur, feeling a pang. I heave a sigh. "His name's on it. You know, he got eighth place? Kind of ironic considering he's from District 8…"

Ronan doesn't smile, but he isn't completely uninterested. "I saw your speech, too. On the tour."

"That was hard," I say. "District 10 was brutal, though."

He makes a face. "Yeah, I imagine." Then, thankfully, he steers the conversation in another direction. When we reach the center, Ronan pauses outside the door and turns to me. "Hey, Dylan?"

"Yes?"

Ronan bites the inside of his lip, studying me with indecision. Then he leans forward suddenly and kisses me on the cheek. With a smile, he turns and lopes inside, leaving me standing there completely baffled.

On the first day of Annie's tour, Finnick and I leave the dorms together, dressed almost exactly alike. We're both wearing tank tops—mine's light blue, his is white—white shorts, and sandals. It wasn't intentional, but I guess we both feel the need to be comfortably dressed today. We're responsible for our own wardrobe since Alaina has to focus on Annie. It's a good thing we have to go to my house because I left all my fancier clothes there and I'll be needing them later.

Before we can get out of the building, Ronan intercepts us. He salutes to Finnick, then to me, naturally, and asks if he can speak to me for a moment. Finnick looks at me, arching one eyebrow and I nod once. Finnick shrugs. "Alright. I'll be outside." Ronan waits until Finnick is through the doors before he starts to talk.

"So…uh…how long will you be gone?" he asks, shuffling his feet.

I bite back a laugh. "How long does the Tour last?" I fold my arms across my chest.

"Oh, right. Um…" he looks down, nervous. Embarrassed, maybe. "Have fun?"

I laugh a bit. "Yeah, I'll try. But with Annie being the way she is… I don't know."

"Good luck," he says. "See you when you get back." He curves the last word so it sounds almost like a question, but not quite.

I nod, smiling. "Of course… Behave, you!"

He laughs and salutes again. "Yes, ma'am."

I walk out the doors and almost instantly, Finnick ambushes me, grinning a grin straight from our childhood days when he was prepared to torment us with fish guts. "Well, well, _well_, Dylan!"

"Oh shut up." I mutter and walk past him.

"When did _that_ start?" He asks, running to catch up.

"Finnick!"

"Hey, you get constant updates on _my_ love life, best friend; I should get some on yours."

I sigh. "Fine. It started, I guess, a few months ago. We've talked a few times. We walked to and from Crest together the day he went to his dad's birthday. But, really, it's nothing serious."

Finnick gives me a dubious look. "Has he kissed you?"

"_Finnick_!"

"Well, has he? At all? A kiss on the hand counts, by the way."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope," he says. "So, did he?"

"…On the cheek," I mumble. "But only that one time."

Finnick stares at me. I glare back.

"It's serious," he says.

"Nothing's happened!" I insist.

"He's kissed you. Even if it was only on the cheek. That's something."

"Dear Poseidon, Finnick! Don't you realize that you sound like a girl right now?"

Finnick snorts but is silent for a few more minutes as we walk through the Village.

"He's probably going to be a tribute, Dylan."

My stomach clenches. "I know."

"Do you want to go through what I did?"

"No." My stomach clenches even more. "No, I don't. But at this rate, I will, won't I?"

Finnick seems at a loss for words. Carefully he reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder and rubs it gently, much like Leathan did when he found out. I bow my head.

"Want me to kick him out?" Finnick asks. I don't know if he's teasing or not.

"No, Fin. Don't do that to him. He wants to do this. He has a real reason, too. Besides…he'll know I had something to do with it."

"Not true," Finncik says lightly. "We can set it up so it looks unplanned."

"Contradictory," I say. "Still, no. Don't. He's come this far. He's worked his ass off. Don't take it from him. Let him win—or lose—fairly."

Finnick says quietly, "I wasn't going to, Dylan. I was just checking."

"Checking?"

"To see if you love him."

My head snaps up and my eyes widen in shock. I open and close my mouth a few times, wanting to speak but unable to find the right words. Finally I get out, "And _how_ exactly did that prove anything?"

He stares at me. "You put aside what you want for him. You know you want me to kick him out so there's no risk. Whether or not you admit it, you want that. But you know what _he_ wants and you're willing to let him have it, even if it hurts you."

I look away from him. "That doesn't mean I love him," I say quietly.

"No," Finnick agrees. "But it means you're on your away."

And then we're in the ring of victor houses, approaching mine/Annie's, and the sight of all the Capitol vehicles shoos away all talk of Ronan.

Inside, I scurry past the camera crews and Tina Sheen before they can see me and my new scars before I'm ready for them to. I hear the clucking of the prep team coming from Annie's room as they make her pretty. Mom is waiting for me in my old room, carefully placing various clothing bags into a suitcase. And she's not alone. My former stylist, Alaina, is here, too.

Her skin is still tinged blue, but not so much that she looks drowned, and her hair is still lush and white, only now there are streaks of pink and yellow. The dazzling silver marks on her arms are back.

I stop dead in my tracks.

Alaina hears me and turns. She sees my face she lets out a tiny shriek of shock and drops the bag in her hands. I wince. Well, it's not like I expected anything less. Her hands fly to her mouth. "Oh…my…" she says over and over.

Mom looks grim. I wonder if she knows my scars were self-inflicted. She probably suspects it.

"Dylan, what on earth happened to you?" Alaina finally asks.

I shrug. "Just a few accidents here and there. Nothing major."

Alaina looks like she's considering fainting. It takes her a minute to compose herself. "And your hair…" she frets.

"That's the last time I let Beril cut my hair." I chuckle. "She thought I'd look good with uneven ends."

"We can get you fixed up in the Capitol," Alaina promises. "I can schedule you an appointment before Annie's party for a facial polish. Should only take an hour or so…"

I shake my head quickly. "No, really, Alaina, it's alright. I don't mind them."

"_Them_?" She asks with an almost vicious edge. I turn my head so she can see the series of scars to the side of my neck and lift my arm so she can see the one there, too. Alaina stares at me for a full silent minute while my mother glances between us. Then finally Alaina growls out, "You did that yourself."

I say nothing and meet her gaze evenly, arching one eyebrow.

"I'm not a fool, Dylan Syle." Alaina says, drawing herself up to her full height. "That on your face, that is from a knife, and unless you were attacked, which I highly doubt, you did it to yourself. Or you had someone else do it to you. Those other two, however those happened, I will bet my career and reputation that you planned for them to. …I never thought you would…turn to hurting yourself as an outlet."

Mom is staring straight at me now, mouth open in an 'o' of shock.

"I didn't," I say firmly, looking between them.

"Is that what you talked to Neal about?" Mom asks.

"Neal?"

"Anders," she says. "Is it?"

"No." I say, growing angrier.

"Then _why_?" Alaina asks. I notice how distraught she looks. She must honestly be worried for me.

"For the same reason we're keeping Annie and Finnick's love a secret," I snap, glaring at her meaningfully. Alaina stares at me for a long minute—I see her mind working behind her eyes—then they go as round as saucers and she let's out a tiny, "Oh."

She nods slowly, repeating that softly, and kneels down, picking up the dropped outfit bag, and placing it in the suitcase. Mom looks completely lost but, for once, I don't think she's going to just accept this as 'victor stuff' and drop it. Even if she doesn't ask now, she'll ambush me later. Me or someone else.

"Tell, her, Alaina." I say, suddenly unable to bear looking at my mother. "I'm going to go see if the team has anything to cover up the one on my face so Tina doesn't have a heart attack when she sees me."

"Alright," she says softly as I leave the room.

I knock on the door to Annie's room and the chatter inside dies. I plaster on my most winning smile then open the door. Lynnea, Cevin, and Simona haven't really changed at all.

Simona's short hair is once again straight and auburn. There are silver jewels in dazzling designs around her face and down onto her neck. Lynnea's hair and eyes still match, but now she has feathers in her hair. This time she's sporting lime green and her skin is still olive and she looks way too young for her years. Cevin, predictable Cevin, still looks like a banana. What is it with this guy?

"Dylan!" They cry at exactly the same moment. I flash them my winning smile and step into the room. Their delight quickly changes to various degrees of horror. I brace myself.

"Your face!" Lynnea and Cevin shout together.

"Your hair!" Simona screams.

Then Simona seems to realize I have, in fact, damaged my lovely face and she lets out another shriek of horror.

Annie laughs. She really laughs. The sound is so refreshing after her panic for the last two weeks that my grimace softens into a smile. Annie's dark hair has been rolled into waves and is fluffier than usual. Her sea green eyes seem to _pop_ from behind the makeup. The preps, for all their useless traits, know how to bring out the best features in us.

Lynnea quickly hands the brush she was holding to Cevin, who already had a hand extended to take it. She flies over to me, her feathered hair flittering behind her, and literally seizes my face, trapping it between her hands. I make a soft noise of protest but she ignores me, her sharp eyes darting around my face, taking in the various small imperfections. Then she lightly skims the scar across my face with one gentle finger, leaving a weird sensation behind. And then I see the tears in her eyes.

"You poor dear…" she whispers. Then she straightens up, her face setting in to a hard mask. Does she share Alaina's suspicions? "That will be a pain to hide. But it's doable. Cev, can you finish on your own?"

"Yes," Cevin says, oddly mellow.

"Good." She glides over to the counter where their various tools of torture are waiting to be used, plucks up several containers and brushes, then glides back with a grace I never noticed before. "Come, Dylan."

I follow her obediently out of the room into the bathroom down the hall. Once in there, she closes the door and carefully sets each item down on the counter as if she's afraid they'll break.

"How did that happen, Dylan?"

"This one," I point to my face, "Was from a knife. This one here happened on some rocks, and the one here happened while I was working on a boat." I point to my neck and arm respectively.

"But you weren't attacked?" she checks. "No one hurt you?"

"No," I say.

She smiles. "Good. Alright, now sit, please."

I put the toilet lid down and sit on it obediently. She goes to work, applying a basic foundation to my face, then starts combining various powders, liquids, and other things and I stop trying to keep up with everything she does and I just sit there with my eyes closed as she paints on my face.

"So," she says, still subdued. "Annie was telling us you and Finnick helped her with her talent."

I smile. Legally insane or not, Annie has to have a talent to show off. So I suggested she sing. She's a beautiful singer, Annie. Give her a mermaid tail and stick her on some rocks out in the ocean and she'd be a siren. Finnick, the poet, wrote her three songs to sing in the Capitol, and I used the flute Chrysanthemum gave me to work up an accompaniment. When Finnick reminded me I couldn't actually play during her inevitable performance, I took the flute over to a musician from Crest who I knew could play and had him write out the notes for several instruments. It took a while, but eventually I left with sheets that I hoped were accurate because I honestly have no idea how to read music.

"Yeah," I say. "She's an amazing singer."

"You made her music, though?" she asks. "I didn't know you could play an instrument."

"Just a little flute," I admit. "Nothing really special—a lot of sailors play flutes just like it."

"But it's still something special," she says. "Not everyone can do it."

She pins my hair out of the way and starts applying the mixtures and powders to my neck and the side of my face. It's oddly soothing.

"So, what have you been doing since the Games?" she asks.

I shrug, earning a quiet noise of protest. "Nothing really interesting. Helping Annie, been fishing , helped assess some boys in line to be tributes—"

"Ooh!" she says. "When will you decide who will be the tribute?"

"Soon, actually," I say. "But whoever wins probably be won't be the next tribute. I think the one who won the last round is eighteen this year so he'll be going this time. But the winner of the round will either go next year or the year after, depending on his age and the age of the next winner. We like our tributes to be as old as possible since they're stronger and have had more practice."

"Really? Well…what about Finnick then? He was fourteen."

I snort. "He volunteered early. He was _not_ supposed to be the tribute that year."

"Really?" Lynnea laughs. "Well, it doesn't matter, I guess. He won."

"It matters to the guy who earned the tribute slot. He worked his ass of to get that and Finnick steals it from him."

"Did you earn it?" Lynnea asks.

I shake my head. "Not technically. It's a long story, but I didn't take it from the girl who earned it. I took it from the girl that put a lot of those major scars on me that you saw the first time."

"Scars that were removed," she says. "Just like these can be when we get to the Capitol."

"No," I say. "I want them. You won't understand…but I want them."

For a moment, Lynnea looks at me like I'm absolutely mad. Then she nods. "Funny thing for a fashion trend."

I roll my eyes but I don't bother correcting her. She understands fashion. She doesn't understand fear. Even if Anders said I probably won't get picked, I don't want to take that risk.

"I'll have to do this every day," Lynnea frets. "I don't know if I'll have time, though."

"No, don't worry." I say. "This is only so Tina doesn't make a scene downstairs and so the cameras don't see me."

Lynnea nods with a sigh. "Alright, take a look." She gestures to the mirror. I stand and walk over to the mirror and gasp softly when I see my reflection.

I can't see the scars. They're _gone_. Hidden. But, of course, so is the rest of my face. I look like an entirely blank slate. I turn and smile at Lynnea. "You're magic, I swear."

"Thank you," Lynnea beams. "Well, get back over here so I can put the rest on."

I return to my seat obediently and let her paint my features back on my face. When she's done, you can barely tell I've got insane amounts of makeup on. I give her a hug and she smiles, patting my hair.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. All though, you should really let Sim do something about this." She holds up a few locks of my hair.

"Nah," I say. "I like it. Gives me kind of a…rugged look."

Lynnea sighs, rolling her eyes, but there's something affectionate about it. "You and your crazy fashion styles."

"Hey, look who's talking, Feather Head."

"Feathers are in style this season," Lynnea insists.

Downstairs, Annie is being interviewed about her music so I slip on by to Alaina whose eyes scan my face intently. Then she smiles. "Excellent."

"So how did Mom take it?" I ask.

Alaina purses her lips. "It could've been worse."

I find Mom in the kitchen talking quietly to Finnick. His eyes flick towards me when he sees me at the door and lifts his hand in greeting. Mom spins around, stares, and then marches over to me. She stops when she gets close enough, looking furious. Then she slaps me hard across the cheek. I react instinctively to the attack, drop and do a shoulder roll across the floor, spring up near the counter and hold the knife from my belt in front of me.

Mom is still fuming but she has the sense _not_ to come over here. I try to calm my racing heart while Finnick storms across the room.

"Put it away, Dylan," he orders gently, reaching out slowly. He grabs my wrist but the action seems unthreatening and I allow him to lower my arm and take the knife from my fingers. He returns it to its holder then looks at my face. "It looks good," he says before turning his attention to my mother.

Mom glares at me. "Are you happy now, Dylan?" She asks, walking towards me. "You spent most of your life training to be in some savage competition, you go when you don't have to, you get hurt, you lose friends, and you become a _murderer!_ You got your brother and sister killed—Yes, I know. I know what really happened and I know why. Now you have to mutilate yourself so your body won't be sold! Are you happy, now, Dylan? Did you get everything you wanted?" She screams.

"Oh so do you hate me now, too?" I shout at her. "Do you wish I'd died in the arena with Garret? Like Rilee?"

"I wish you'd have listened to us and _never gone in the first place_!" she screams back, coming closer. "Then my son and daughter would still be alive and you wouldn't be responsible for the deaths of children!"

She's too close. I draw the knife again.

'_Dylan! No!_' Garret yells for the first time in weeks.

That's when Dad rushes in followed by Alaina and Dr. Anders. They take in the scene. Mom standing close to me, her posture clearly offensive; Finnick trying to get between us but can't because I've got a knife pointed right at the spot between my mother's eyes.

Anders, surprisingly quickly, darts across the kitchen, grabs my mother by her arms and hauls her away. Mom struggles; shouting horrible things at him, until Dad gets his arms around her, crushing her to his chest. He talks to her soothingly and pulls her out of the kitchen. After a moment, Dr. Anders follows.

The world seems to shudder and I realize I'm shaking. The knife falls from my fingers, clattering to the ground, followed swiftly by me. Finnick catches me, though, like he always does, and he holds me while I cry.

"They're going to kill you for ruining your makeup." Finnick informs me.

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**Review, tell people, go see the movie...**


	28. Awake

**Alright you guys, so here's the next chapter! It's Spring Break. WHEE! Over a week to lounge around and do whatever! And go to lots of rehearsals, of course. And sleep. Lots of sleeping.**

**Our friend's cat Phoebe just had kittens! Pictures here: wintermoonfeather. deviantart. com/gallery/36334994**

**Enjoy!  
**

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I jerk awake and sit bolt upright with a gasp.

I take a few deep breaths as I try to calm my racing heart, looking around my room to make sure I'm actually here.

What…was that? A dream…? Yeah, it was only a dream. I flop back down onto my pillow, take a few more deep breaths, then laugh quietly.

Of course it was a dream. As if anything like _that_ could _ever _happen to _me._

I laugh for a few more moments then roll over and look at the clock. 10am. I would've have preferred sleeping another hour, but even if my ridiculous dream hadn't woken me up, I'm pretty sure my alarm clock will arrive any minute now.

I stare at the digits on my clock. That was some dream. Thank goodness that's all it was. _Garret, Pisces, Sawyer, Finnick, Sol, Annie…Lana…Evan…_

When my door creeks open a few minutes later, I close my eyes and pretend to sleep again. I hear her creep towards my bed, taking careful steps to avoid making the floorboards creek. I can feel she's just inches from my face…

I snap my eyes open and say, "Boo!"

"Eep!" Lana shrieks but can't jump away before I reach out and start to tickle her. "Eee! Heeheehee! Stop it! Heehee! Dylan! Quit!"

Laughing, I sit up in my bed while my little sister gasps, still holding her stomach. "Meanie!"

"Oh you love it."

"You're still a meanie," she says. "Mom's got breakfast ready. Come on, before Evan eats all the omelets."

"Omelets? What's the occasion?"

Lana rolls her eyes. "Duh. Willow Freebird won the Hunger Games yesterday!"

"Oh! You're right, duh!" I roll my eyes. I can't believe I forgot that. "Sorry, I had a _crazy_ dream last night."

She shakes her head. "Now come on, before Evan eats them all!"

Lana runs out of the room to save some omelets and I shake my head, laughing to myself again. I throw the covers back and slide out of bed. I grab the brush off my bedside table and calm down my wild hair before heading for the kitchen. The delicious smell of cooking omelets fills the entire house making my mouth water and my stomach rumble.

Lana and Evan are sitting at the table with Dad and Luke is at the counter helping Mom make pancakes. I pause in the doorway for a moment with my hand on the wall, staring at my family. They're all alive. We're all together. Safe, happy, alive. All of us together in the Capitol. Not district people. Just as it should be.

"Are you just gonna stand there all day?" Evan demands, reaching for my plate. "If so, I got dibs on your food."

"Paws off, little piggy," I say and step into the kitchen.

After breakfast, I head back to my room and change into a light pink midriff top and short shorts, slip sandals onto my feet, grab my bag, and head out to meet my friends. We usually hang out down in Whitepoint Park by the lake, near a picnic table.

The whole city is frenzy since the District 4 girl won the Hunger Games last night. Music plays over speakers, pictures of Willow's face flash everywhere. Store owners are handing out free samples. People laugh and dance and cheer. As soon as we all meet up, my friends and I will join the party.

When I get to the picnic table in the park about fifteen minutes later, I spot Annie's pink hair, Sol's sun-spikes, Pisces' newly indigo-streaked hair, and my boyfriend's simple brown hair. I love that about him. He's never been over dramatic like some people. The most he's ever done to his hair was dye it neon yellow once on a dare.

"Hey, guys!" I call.

They turn their heads and Annie jumps up, waving. "Heeey Dyyyylaaaan!" She shouts. "Happy Hunger Games!"

Pisces grins then adds loudly, "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I laugh and bound towards them. Pisces grins at me in the snarky way only he can get away with. "Hey there, Dilly."

"Don't call me Dilly," I say automatically, but I smile at him. "Oh, nice streaks going there."

Pisces takes a moment to flip his indigo-streaked golden hair then folds his arms.

"So, maybe you can help us out," he says. He jerks his head towards my boyfriend, who frowns. "Hothead and here and I were discussing—"

"Arguing," Annie cuts in.

"—which one of us would last longer in the Hunger Games?"

I wince inwardly and take a seat between the two of them. "Well, sorry to say, Garret, but you die before him."

Garret blinks at the certainty in my voice, then frowns. "Hey!"

"Sorry. And what's worse? Pisces would be the one to kill you."

"_Hey!_"

"Mhmm." I say. "Then Sawyer would kill him."

Pisces brays with laughter and Garret rolls his eyes while Annie giggles.

"What about me?" Sol asks.

"You? You're just an ordinary citizen of the Capitol."

"Hey! No fair!" he protests. "I want to be a victor!"

"Too bad," I say and the others laugh again.

"What's so funny?"

I turn to look at Sawyer who's approaching us, bag slung over her shoulder. Her ivy-green hair is pulled up in a ponytail and she's got brown designs stenciled down her arms. Our resident tree-lover. Must be why she was—

"Dylan was just informing us what would happen if we were all in the Hunger Games together," Pisces says. "Apparently I kill Garret then you kill me. I imagine she's the victor, then?"

"Nope," I shake my head. "After an epic showdown between the two of us, I emerge the victor."

This, of course, sets everyone into fits of laughter.

"You!" Pisces laughs. "That's even more unbelievable than Sawyer killing me! You can't even fight!"

"Can so!"

"Yeah, whatever. You're not your sister."

I roll my eyes. My sister, Rilee, is a Peacekeeper. She's a whiz with knives. She tried to teach me once, trying to see if I was Peacekeeper worthy, but I failed miserably. I wasn't too upset. The life of a Peacekeeper is not for me. All that fighting and killing? Ugh! Living in the districts? No thank you!

"Hmph. well, you asked."

Sawyer sits down beside me, frowning. "Would you really kill me, Dylan?"

"Of course not, gill-brain."

"Why do I have to die before Pisces?" Garret complains and I notice for the first time that he's got new, light blue designs stenciled around his eyes. I'll have to compliment him later.

"It's his way of getting revenge on you." I say.

"Revenge?"

"Oh yes," I say. "Because he's been secretly in love with me for years and you stole me."

Pisces snorts and wraps his arm around Sawyer, practically pulling her on top of him. "No way! There's only one girl for me!"

"Stop!" Sawyer elbows him.

"Get off her," Sol says, frowning at his girlfriend's captor.

Pisces let's go, laughing, then addresses me. "You're never going to let that go, are you? It was a crush, Dylan. A little crush that I'm over."

"You better be," Garret says, sliding one arm around my waist. "Otherwise, you and me are going to have to fight." Then he leans down and kisses me. I giggle.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

Garret draws back, arching an eyebrow at Pisces.

"You do realize Dylan's already predicted the outcome of that fight, right?"

"You do realize it's go time, right?"

"Bring it!" Pisces jumps up and Garret lets go of me, leaping at him, but Pisces tears off towards the lake.

I smile, watching my boyfriend and my best friend run around. I lean back on my hands, stretching my legs out in front of me. Saywer, Sol, and Annie laugh then Sawyer pulls a book out of her bag and opens it.

"Seriously?" Sol wrinkles his nose. "You're going to _read_ when there's a perfectly good show going on right in front of us?"

Sawyer nods.

"Ugh. You can be such a bore." Annie scoots closer to me. "They're both adorable."

"Yup."

"So, how do the Hunger Games go for me? When do I die?"

"You don't," I say. "You go in next year and win for District 4. You go totally insane in the process, but you win."

Annie sighs. "You're so dramatic."

"Blame my subconscious," I say. "I had this insane dream last night. I dreamed _I _was in the Hunger Games. All of us were, actually. Pisces and I were District partners from 4. Sawyer, you were from District 7."

She snorts at that.

"And Garret was from district 8. And that bastard up the street from you, Annie, Jules? He was from District 1. A bunch of others, too."

"Whoa. How did Jules die?"

"I slit his throat."

"Nice." She sighed. "If only you could do that for real."

"I could," I say. "I'd just get thrown in jail afterwards. No thanks."

"So, basically, you dreamed this years Hunger Games, but with all of us instead of the actual tributes. Wow, what did you eat before bed?"

I laugh, but before I can explain—

"My money's on Pisces," a voice says loudly from behind. Finnick jogs towards us, eyes on Garret and Pisces who I realize are tussling around in the sand by the water.

"Why is everyone against me today!" Garret's voice cries from somewhere within the tangle of limbs.

Finnick laughs and plops into the sand beside Annie, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Hey, Annie."

"Hey, Fin," she says. "Dylan was just telling me about her crazy dream."

"Oh?" Finnick looks at me.

"We were all in the Hunger Games. Except for you and Sol. You were a mentor and he was just an ordinary Capitol citizen."

Finnick frowns. "How come I can't have fun?"

"That's what I wanted to know," Sol mutters.

"So, who wins?"

I shrug. "Garret and I are allies, then Pisces kills Garret, Sawyer kills him, and I kill her. Annie wins the next year."

"And apparently I go completely psychotic." Annie says dramatically.

"That's never going to happen," he says, glaring at me as if I'd somehow sentenced her to some horrible doom.

"Hey, easy up, Nick," I say. "It was just a dream."

"Good," he says, then nods towards the boys. "You may want to do something about that."

I put my fingers in my mouth and whistle sharply. "Boys! Boys! Knock it off! Garret wins!"

"Ha!" Garret cries and wriggles away from Pisces. "You heard her! Now _I _am the victor."

"No fair!" Pisces protests, scrambling up. "I almost had him!"

Garret bounds back over to the group and flops down next to me. "Now! Where were we?"

"Oh stop," I say as he leans in.

He laughs and slides his arm around me. I rest my head on his shoulder.

"Kollin, we'll finish this later," Pisces vows.

"You mean I'll kick your butt later."

"You wish."

"Boys!" Annie says, tossing sand at them. "That's quite enough!"

"Hmph," Pisces says but then he notices Sawyer buried in her book, and grins. This won't end well. He stands up and creeps around behind her. Sol glares warningly but Annie shakes her head, motioning for him to keep quiet. Sawyer, still absorbed in whatever she's reading, doesn't even notice. Pisces grins wickedly.

"Sawyer…" I say softly.

"Hm?" she says, not really paying attention.

"Run."

"Hmm—eeeeeeeeeeek!" She screeches as Pisces picks her up by the waist and starts running toward the water with her slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She screams as he runs, hurling curses and beating him with her fists because she's had the sense to drop the book.

Annie leaps up, laughing, and chases after them, just a second behind Sol. "Don't worry, Sawyer, I'll save you!"

Finnick, of course, follows her. "We'll get Pisces, you rescue Sawyer!" he tells Sol.

Garret and I glance at each other then both of us burst into laughter. Listening to the sound of his laugh makes me smile even harder, but as I think back on my dream, my smile falters. I lost him there. He died. And then I hallucinated for months and months, hearing his voice in my head whenever I was upset. I close my eyes and hug him, squeezing tightly.

He makes a small "oomph!"

"Geez, Dylan, bear hug much?"

"Sorry," I say. "Just thinking. …I'm glad we're not in the arena. I never want to lose you."

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," he promises, then puts his hand under my chin, tilting my face up. "But it's your fault, you know, saying I'd die first."

"Not first," I say. "Sixteenth."

"…What?"

I quietly explain my dream and how he died, then how Pisces died, and then Sawyer and how I hallucinated, how Lana and Evan ended up dead because of me, and Annie going crazy. When I'm done, Garret shakes his head.

"You dream the craziest shit, Dylan, I swear. Me, from District 8? What's that all about?"

"Sorry." His easy attitude about all this makes me feel better. What was I getting all worked up for, anyway? It's just the Hunger Games. It'd probably be fun. If I could fight.

"Besides, it was just a dream. …As if you could actually _win_ the Hunger Games."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Dilly, but it's true."

I elbow him playfully.

The sound of squealing brings our attention back to the water. Sawyer has been released and she stands on the edge of the crystal clear lake, sopping wet, shouting curses at Pisces who's now holding a squealing Annie hostage while Sol and Finnick chase after him. The two of us laugh quietly, but our laughter increases as Sawyer storms over to us, holding her book. The water has totally ruined her makeup, the brown designs are smeared.

"Shut up you hyenas! Ugh!" she screeches. "Now I _totally _have to redo _everything_ before I can go party! Ugh! I'll be back _later_! Don't you dare leave without me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Garret promises.

She humphs angrily again, stuffing her book in her bag, and storms away. We wait until she's out of earshot before we laugh again.

Everything's perfect. I'm exactly where I belong. And actually, now my dream is starting to fade. I can't remember the little details anymore. I don't even bother trying to find them. Garret's right. Just a silly dream… That's the last time I eat caramel cookies and watch Hunger Games recaps before bed!

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**Review, tell peoples...that whole shabang...**


	29. Misery

**Ha...haha...hahaha...! AAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAA HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA! Okay, I think I'm done. ...Nope. BWAHAHAHAHA HAAHAHAHAAA!  
**

**xDDDD Oh I got you all SO good! HAHAAHAAA!**

**BTW, if you didn't get the memo, last chapter was fake XD Just an April Fools prank. *walks away laughing***

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District 8 will always be special to me. Not just because of Garret, not just because of all the pretty clothes they make the textiles and fabric with, but for the people of the District.

When Annie steps on stage, thunderous applause greets her. And it's genuine, I can tell that much from here in the room where we watch the whole thing live on huge screens. Maybe some of it is fueled by their love of me, but I think they honestly treasure Annie in the way they did me. Because she was kind to their tribute. Because she held him while he died. It was completely awful in District 9 since Annie killed their male tribute and is the reason Rosalinda isn't the victor, so having such a great reception here has a steadying effect on Annie.

It's a good thing Anders is with us. It's a good thing we have down time between each district. Because after a horrible start in 12—she killed their female—it was obvious that this Tour would be harder than we thought. When Annie's not talking to Anders, she's singing with me, or cuddling with Finnick somewhere in the train and no one tries to stop them and no one goes hunting for them until dinnertime.

After the scripted speeches are read, Annie pauses, biting the inside of her lip, then tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. "I should've killed him," she says. "He was suffering. It would've been mercy to kill him quickly so he didn't have to die in pain…but I… I couldn't hurt him. Too much hurting…" She closes her eyes and clams up.

Then the people clap again, more quietly this time, as if they're afraid their loud cheers will scare her. Tears stream down Annie's face as she's whisked off stage.

We have to wait until she's mellow before she can be re-dressed for the tour of the factories. Then they escort us to a factory where they make satin. On the way back from the factory I spot a familiar girl with light brown hair and green eyes standing on the sidewalk. Garret's sister, Maggie, bundled up in dull, scraggly coat that doesn't look insulated and no gloves to keep her hands warm. She's watching our precession with a friendly, yet wistful smile.

I glance around then dart away from the group, towards the sidewalk and Maggie. Surprise flicks across her face. I smile at her then remove the snug, Capitol-made gloves from my hands, holding them out to her.

"Take them," I insist.

Maggie stares at me in surprise, her eyes lingering on my scars for a moment longer than what could be considered polite, then her gaze returns to my eyes.

"It's warm where I live," I tell her. "Take them. You need them more than I do."

Maggie looks down at the gloves for a moment, then gently takes them from me and slides her hands into the warm cocoons. They're a bit too big on her, but warm is warm. Delight appears on her face.

"Thank you, Dylan," she says. "But…I can't pay you back…"

"You don't have to," I say. "They're a gift. I wish I could give you more."

She shakes her head. "Why? Dylan, you barely know me. You only knew my brother for a few weeks."

"And those weeks were enough," I say, wishing I could tell her that I've known him longer. Sorta.

Lillian calls me back to the group. I smile at Maggie and squeeze her free hand tightly then hurry back through the snow to the procession.

"What do you think you were doing?" Lillian hisses to me as we walk.

"That was Garret's sister. I gave her my gloves because she didn't have any."

Lillian looks over her shoulder, I do too. Maggie is still standing where I left her. Her hands stick out like twin lighthouses in the bright yellow gloves.

"Oh, really? I swear, Dylan, you can make friends with anyone anywhere."

"Not anyone," I say.

Lillian smiles at me. "It's just a figure of speech."

The rest of the districts are quite uneventful. The people seem to understand Annie is fragile because even if they don't particularly like her, their mannerisms are tender. The victors treat her like a daughter, gentle and kind. As the days and districts pass, Annie seems to retreat inside herself to escape. She stops eating on her own, only consuming food after much coaxing by some of us. By the time we reach District 3, her eyes are hollow, her voice lifeless, and her overall manner is that of a child.

Finnick's not doing so well either. It's not good for him having to watch her in so much pain, unable to help. We all agree that she should go home _right now_, but when Tina gets wind of it, we get a lecture and a firm NO.

Sometimes Annie, Finnick, and I curl up in the back of the train, watching the world disappear behind us. They usually sit together on one side and I sit on the other, all of us leaning against the sturdy glass, but one time, Finnick motions me over and I curl up next to him gratefully, stretching my arm over to hold Annie's hand. I don't know what I'd do without Finnick. I don't love him the way Annie does, I never will, but I need him in a way she doesn't. I would've probably been a drunk or a regular mutilator by now if he hadn't been around to help me, to hold me together.

We end up falling asleep that way and my dreams are free of nightmares for the first time since the Tour began. When I come to, I find someone has draped several blankets around us and Beril is sleeping on the plush sofa that the three of us never used. We victors really are a sad bunch. It makes me feel sorry for those victors with only one or no other victors in their District. In 4 there are many of us, we look out for each other. A big family of the mentally, emotionally, and physically screwed. Even Beril, who I don't particularly _like_ all too much, is now someone I can't live without.

Her face is very relaxed making her appear younger than she is; vulnerable. Some of her black hair hangs in her face. She's laying in a loose fetal position under a single blanket, her hands near her chest—I can see her fists poking out from the top of the blanket. She whimpers softly in her sleep. I wonder what terror is plaguing her mind. She whimpers again, her face shifts a bit, and suddenly she looks terrified in her sleep.

And that's when I decide that I'm going to do everything in my power to stop Ronan from going into the Games. Maybe he won't end up as my life partner, but I don't want him to be one of us. One of the murderers plagued with nightmares of his past while his soul is slowly eaten away in the aftermath.

Annie's mood affects all of us. By the time we're in District 1, everyone is glum and quiet, except our Capitol companions, but even they seem a little more sober than usual. Just a little. Tina's endless exuberance is like someone turning on the lights while you're trying to sleep. Zaire mutters darkly at breakfast that someone needs to whack her with a chair. I couldn't agree more. We don't dare, though. Physically assaulting a Capitol citizen? You might as well just run up to President Snow and scream "Kill me!" whilst throwing in an insult about his mother.

It's just after dawn when we arrive in the Capitol. The knowledge that this is our last stop before home has filled us with a buzz that wasn't there yesterday. Plus, we're getting some prime food tonight. I wonder if they'll let me sneak stuff home to my parents.

Oh. Wait. My own mother hates me now.

Never mind.

When we pull into the station, the cameras are flashing before we even step out of the train. The intensity only increases when we do step out. It gets so bad that I have to close my eyes and I hide behind Zaire's bulky frame to escape the worst assault. But I end up having to put on my brave face and form a barricade with Finnick, Beril, and Zaire and block Annie from the endless flashes and screaming which do _not_ have a good effect on her. But we cannot go with her as she is placed into an elegant carriage to be paraded through the streets to the Training Center while the citizens will cheer. It was quite unsettling when I did it.

We instead get to take a car to the Training Center and we're waiting for her when the carriage arrives, depositing a practically comatose Annie. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her hands clasped firmly over her ears, and her face screwed up against a noise we can't hear. Finnick has to carry her off the atrocity and when she still doesn't move, he shrugs and carries her all the way the way up to the fourth floor and sets her down in her old room. I'm standing in the doorway she opens her eyes for the first time and looks around the room, taking in the lush blue and green and brown décor.

Then she starts screaming a horrible unearthly scream that sends me right back into the control room the moment of Seaborne's death, watching his head fly from his body, listening to Annie shriek. And then even further back to my own Games, cowering in that little hole while the shrieking rats tried to dig down and kill me. Then someone else starts screaming right along with her. A firm hand clasps around my mouth and I feel myself being pulled from Annie's doorway. That's when I realize that it's me. I stop screaming, but I can't stop the shakes racing through my body.

Whoever is dragging me suddenly shoves me to the ground. I grunt and glare up at Beril.

"What in the name of Silverbeard's moustache is wrong with you?" she shouts at me.

I'm still shaking and it makes my voice wobble. "I…I…d-don't kn-know…I…"

Beril's already calming down, though, and I see pity on her face. "It scares you, doesn't it? Loud screaming."

I nod once.

"Those mutts that chased you did it."

I nod again and Beril does, too, mostly to herself. "Alright, you're feeling pretty stir crazy, aren't you?"

I nod yet again, still not trusting myself not to scream again. Annie, I realize, has gone quiet, too.

Beril exhales slowly. "Get out of here, Dylan. Go get one of those nifty credit cards and go buy gifts for all your little friends, but don't let me catch you back here until it's time to get dressed for the party at five o'clock."

"But, with all the festivities, will shops even be open?" I ask.

"Oh yes," Beril says. "You might have to get a bit away from the Training Center if you don't want to get squished, but you'll find some shops. What do you think I do all the time?"

I stand up. "Party, or whatever."

"Well, what does 'whatever' entail?"

I shrug.

"You know those gifts that you each get from Mags on your birthdays?"

"Yes…" It was an old tradition among the trails. Every ten-year-old learned that when they turned eleven, Mags would have a gift for you. A real gift. Something you'd be hard pressed to find anywhere else in the entire district. Most of the older kids knew that these items were, in fact, from the Capitol. But let the little ones think that Mags was magic.

"Mags hasn't done her own shopping since she was about fifty. We do it for her. You know that pretty little necklace you got when you turned sixteen? You're welcome." Beril says and then before I can answer, she turns around and walks down the hallway.

"Hey, Beril!" I call after her. "Thanks for the blankets the other day."

Beril keeps on walking as if she didn't hear me.

I return to the room that was mine last time I was here and poke around in the closet which is still stocked with clothes of all sizes for all genders since they never know who will come and who will pick which room. I change into long-sleeved deep satin shirt, slip on a pair of furred boots, and take a coat made of soft white fur. Matching gloves wait in the pockets. The fur is soft against my skin and I nuzzle my face into it. I want this coat. I'll probably never have real use for it in the nearly always warm District 4, but I could snuggle with it or use it as a pillow. Something.

Furs and feathers are in season right now, according to the Capitol citizens we've been traveling with, and I wonder if that has something to do with the chilly mountain temperature of the Capitol, but it shouldn't be hard to find things made of furs. Not hard at all.

I acquire a credit card from an Avox and then gratefully flee the Training Center. I stop at the first clothing shop I can get into and purchase a hat with flaps that hang down over my ears and a warm scarf made of fur and decorated with beautiful feathers. Then I make my way to Fleck Caske's bakery and he is absolutely delighted to see me again. I give him the compliments from the others about the cake he made us for the tribute's last night in the Capitol before the Games, and I make sure he knows how much Seaborne enjoyed the last desert he had.

"It was my pleasure," Fleck says. "Do you wish to make a purchase? Or are you saving room for tonight?"

"Saving room," I say reluctantly.

"Well that's a shame," he says.

"But, wait, um, do you think any of these would stay fresh for the duration of, say, a train ride to District 4?"

"Well, freshness only lasts a certain time, even with adequate storage, however, I think they should. They will at least still be edible."

I scan the rows of delicious looking pastries for something with a lot of strawberries. Finally I select a small round pink cake with white icing and strawberries placed delicately into it. The name on the card in front of it reads, "Strawberry Delight."

"I've got some more stops to make, though," I say. "Can I come back for it?"

"Certainly," Fleck says with a smile.

I also stop at a fabric store and buy a roll of glimmering light green silk for my mother. No, I am not above buying someone's love. I ask them to hold the fabric for me, which they quickly agree to after they see the generic victor information pop onto screen. After that I head over to a jewelry store and buy two silver necklaces and ask the jeweler to engrave a phrase from a traditional District 4 wedding speech into the pendants on the ends of each. For Luke and the lady he loves. No matter how he may feel about me, I'm still his little sister. I still owe him _something_.

The shop owner provides two small velvet boxes, one for each necklace. With them in my pocket, I head back to the fabric store and pick up mom's fabric, then the cake from Fleck Caske.

Annie, after having just finished her interview with Caesar, is shaking like a wet kid when I arrive back in the Training Center. Finnick has made it his mission to never leave her side. Anders assures us that no one is allowed to dance with Annie and all guests have been informed of this prior to being admitted to the party, but there will be handshakes and photographs taken, with Finnick nearby just in case.

We have an hour to get ready for the party. While the prep team works on Annie, Alaina presents of each the female victors a gift: a pair of small downy wings that will stick to our backs like glue, but can be removed with ease. She says Annie gets a pair, too, of course. I think Alaina is in love with the idea that Annie is a flying creature. A lot of her outfits on the tour had some sort of avian theme. Or maybe it's because many flying creatures are small and weak and appear as such.

My wings are tawny at the center, fading to white at the tips, with flecks of white here and there. They're not very big, maybe a foot or so each wing, and when I stick them to my back, I can't magically control them. They're too small for flying, anyway. I choose a dress with enough exposed back that the wings aren't hindered. Indigo satin with a halter top that hugs me to my waist then flares out just enough for me to move around freely, falling to my ankles. Finding a hair style is a different matter entirely. After numerous failed attempts at making something that looks appropriate and is possible with my weirdly cut hair, I finally just decide to go simple and brush my hair back and hold it there with a glimmering silver headband.

Finnick helps me with my makeup and is surprisingly adept with it. I suppose he's had a while to practice. And since I stopped bothering to hide my scars in District 9 I don't need Lynnea's help.

We congregate near the elevators and I get a chance to see the others. Beril, for once, has decided to dress appropriately for the party. Maybe the wings have something to do with it. Her glossy black hair has been straightened so it actually looks nice and she's wearing a deep red, almost crimson, gown that makes her pale skin oddly beautiful. Her wings match her hair, sleek and black and completely majestic. Mag's wings are a soft shade of silver. Lillian's wings are dusky brown lighter spots of tawny and white.

But Annie is the real beauty. Part of her hair has been twisted into a headband and the rest flows around a pair of wings as white as the snow in District 7. Ivory feathers are carefully placed throughout her hair and a sleek white gown that covers more than it shows falls to her ankles where dainty white shoes cover her feet. Her dress is sleeveless, but her arms are covered in a thin layer of see-through fabric.

She looks like a creature from another realm. Something that should have never even been in the Hunger Games to begin with. She'll outshine everyone in that room.

A look at Finnick makes me giggle. He looks like his brain has momentarily stopped working, his mouth hanging half open. I give him a quick kick to the leg and he starts, shaking his head quickly. "Wow," he finally says. Annie smiles shyly.

A tip from the older victors: don't eat lunch on the day of the Capitol stop. I learned why on my Victory Tour. There was so much food that I was glad I took their advice and resisted the temptation. It is no different this year. My mouth is watering before I even step in the room. I give Annie and Finnick each a kiss on their cheeks, wish them luck, then all but fly towards the banquet tables. I like food.

The party is in full swing within five minutes of our arrival. An orchestra perched on what appear to be clouds plays beautiful music, above them is a ceiling that shows a starry night sky. An allusion, I think, since the lights from the city drown out all but the strongest stars. Rows and rows of tables line the wall, each covered in an unimaginable amount of food, no dish holding the same thing as another. Fountains and ponds are scattered throughout the room, some containing water flowers, some fish, and others both. Couches and plus chairs wait here and there for people to collapse in.

A lot of the citizens are, indeed, wearing feathers. In their hair, on their clothes, as accessories, and some of them even have feathers _sprouting_ _from their skin_. I don't think it's like our wings that are simply attached to our backs. I think those feathers are actually _inside _them. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.

I'm slurping down a bowlful of some amazing brown soup with finely cut squares of meat when I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Excuse me."

I swallow and spin around, careful not to spill my soup. "Sol!"

His hair is still sunny and he's spiked it up instead of having it down and shaggy like when I first met him. That's the first thing I notice. The next are the pretty designs stenciled on his forehead and framing the sides of his eyes; lines connecting birds taking flight. He's wearing a white dress shirt and black pants that make his hair seem out of place.

Sol smiles, pleased that I remembered him. Or maybe it's that I recognized him without his typical easy-going attire. "I thought that was—" Then he stops and I know he's noticed the scar under the layer of makeup intended to hide only minor flaws. He takes a step back. "What…in…the…?"

I wince. For all their time watching the Hunger Games, people from the Capitol are always shocked when they see scars on people. "You know," I say, "Back home, if you have no visible scars, you're considered inexperienced."

Sol gawks for another few seconds. "What happened to you, Dylan?"

"A knife got me," I point to the one he's staring at. "Rocks got me here," I point to the ones on the side. "And this one happened on the boat." I hold up my arm.

"Why don't you get them removed?"

"Why is everyone asking me that?" I ask. "I want them, Sol. Please, can we not talk about this? I'm here, so let's try to have fun."

Sol smiles, though still seems a bit surprised. "We won't even have to try."

He's right. Since I'm not the guest of honor I have a lot more freedom to move around. Occasionally people come to shake my hand or get a photo, which I allow, even though their momentary distraction from my scars is annoying. I dance with Sol once the music picks up since I've never done any slow dances and I don't want to. We eat until we're ready to burst. Then, strangely, Sol says he'll be right back. He takes an odd looking glass from a table and I watch him disappear into the bathroom. When he comes back he doesn't tell me what it was for, but even more strangely, he suddenly is able to eat again. He goes for another glass after eating some more, but doesn't offer me one.

While he's in the bathroom, I seek out Beril. She goes to Capitol parties all the time. She'll probably know what's in those cups. She's easy to spot with her sleek gown and protruding wings and I tap her on the arm. She looks away from the young man she was speaking with and arches her eyebrow at me.

"Those cups," I point to the table. "What are they?"

Beril's eyes narrow slightly. "Don't drink one," she says immediately.

"Why?"

"Just don't." She leans closer to me and lowers her voice. "It's one of the most despicable things you can do."

And Sol was drinking them? I frown. "What…do they do?"

Beril sighs. "They make you puke up your guts."

My eyes bug out of my head. "They do _what_?" My voice goes up several octaves.

"Not _literally_," Beril hisses, glancing around. "For Poseidon's sake, girl. It's just a figure of speech. Those glasses contain a mixture which makes you throw up all the food you've consumed recently. It's so you can feast over and over again." She looks around the room at the buffet. "They eat. They throw it up. They eat again. Lather. Rise. Repeat."

I feel sick. I might not even need to drink one of those cursed things to get my meal to make an appearance. "That's…were they here last year?"

"Yes." She says.

"And so when Sol's going into the bathroom with one of those…" I trial off. Beril stares at me, not answering. But she doesn't have to.

"Has he offered you one?" she asks.

"What?"

"Did he ask you if you wanted a glass?"

"No."

"Did you tell him you were full?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, that says something about him, at least." Beril says then nods her head to something over her shoulder. "And here he comes."

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, and by the time they're open again, Beril's drifting into the crowd. I turn to Sol who's as sunny-faced as ever.

"So, I guess you feel like eating again?" I snap. "Well, go on then. Stuff your face! Want me to hold a bucket so you don't even have to make a detour to the bathroom?"

Sol blinks slowly. "I thought you knew the first time."

"No," I say pointedly. "I didn't."

"Well, if…I guess I…if it makes you feel better, I won't do it again for this party."

"Don't do it again ever, Sol!" I burst out. "There are people within my district, all across Panem, who would kill for the food you just wasted."

Sol squirms uncomfortably under my gaze and doesn't meet my eyes. But my words must've meant _something _to him because he doesn't even glance towards the food the rest of the night. I guide him over to Annie and Finnick for his official introduction to the tribute he sponsored, the only reason he was permitted to attend this party. Annie looks like she's enjoying herself a bit, but there's something in her eyes that tells me she doesn't feel comfortable here and wants to get the hell out.

I introduce her to Sol and he smiles, bowing politely, then says hello to Finnick.

"So you're the boy who dragged her around the city," Finnick says. "Well, at least you got her back safely."

I kick Finnick in the leg. "Seas, Finnick, you want to sound any more like my father?"

Finnick grins at me. "I'm kidding."

Annie tilts her head, studying Sol. "You sponsored me?"

"Yes, I did." Sol says.

"That's why he's here, Annie." I remind her.

Annie nods slowly. "When?"

"What do you mean?" Sol asks.

"When did you start to sponsor me?" And I realize she's in one of her moments of complete clarity. They've been few and far in between since the Tour began. It won't last. I meet Finnick's gaze and he knows it, too. We say nothing. We'll let this moment carry on for as long as possible. "Before the Games? After the Bloodbath? When?"

Sol looks uncomfortable. "After, um…after you…" he trails off, opening his mouth a few times, but never forming words. One of Finnick's eyebrows goes up, daring Sol to say what he's thinking. "After you split off from your alliance." Sol finally says.

"After the ambush," Annie says.

Sol nods.

My shock is mirrored on Finnick's face. Sol sponsored her after she was deemed a lost cause. He must've known it would probably be a waste of money. And yet still he did it.

"Thank you," Annie says, smiling warmly at him, then, as if on cue, her smile fades and she seems to retreat inside herself. She looks at Finnick and rests her head on his shoulder while he pats her back. Sol looks confused, glancing at me. I shake my head ever so slightly. Not the time or the place to explain what just happened with Annie.

Sometime before midnight, Sol and I are sitting on a plush couch near the wall, watching the party progress without us.

"Are you coming back for the Games?" he asks.

"Maybe," I say. "I don't know."

"How will I know if you do?"

"Watch the coverage for the train station in District 4. They always get shots of the mentors boarding the train. If you see me, you'll know."

Sol smiles, "I'll be watching."

"But I might stay home," I warn him. "I'm starting to work in the training program for our tributes."

"Really?" He leans closer to me. "Who's coming for your district?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I didn't ask. But we're about to have the final test for the older boys and girls. Whoever wins these will be tributes in either the seventy-second or seventy-third Games."

"Sounds exciting. Who do you think will win?"

I look away from him. "I don't know for the girls. But for the boys…it will probably be…Ronan Flit."

"Should I sponsor him, you think?"

I close my eyes and say nothing. If I succeed, Ronan won't be the tribute. I feel the couch shift as Sol leans forward, as if to look at my face. I don't know. I keep my eyes closed. He says nothing and neither do I. We're silent for a long time.

"Do you love him?"

I open my eyes.

"The boy," Sol's looking at me. "You love him?"

"I might," I murmur. "I don't know."

Sol sits there awkwardly for a second, then hesitantly reaches over and places his hand on my back. Tina comes to get me a few minutes later and I bid Sol goodbye, giving him a fierce hug. "Thank you," I say to him.

"You're welcome—oh!" he says then steps back and plunges his hand into his pocket. "I nearly forgot. Here—something to remember me by. Just in case I don't see you for a while." And he pulls out a small black leather box, like the ones containing the necklaces I bought, handing it to me. I open it carefully.

Inside is a slim golden chain, big enough to fit around my wrist, with a small sun dangling from the end.

I smile at him as he fastens it to my wrist.

We stop at the Training Center to grab our things then it's back to the train station. We board the train quickly, barely lingering long enough for the cameras to catch our images, then the doors close and we're zooming back home.

Finnick carries Annie down to her car because, by now, she really does seem physically incapable of doing it herself. I take my bags of stuff (one of which now contains that snuggly fur coat) and head down to my compartment. I carefully pull the wings from my back. I slip off the dress. Wash the makeup off my face. Flop into bed.

It takes us only about a day to reach home. During that time, since we won't be going straight to any parties, there are no preparations. We have a day to do whatever we want. And, for most of us, that 'whatever' includes lounging around while our stomachs digest the food from the party, sleeping off hangovers, or watching television programs which mainly includes footage of us. Not very entertaining.

More than once, I see Annie run past wearing a loose white dress with her party wings on her back and her arms extended as though she might fly, laughing like there's no tomorrow. One time I'm near Anders when she races past us, totally lost in her own little world, and the psychiatrist says she's in some sort of self-preservation mode from all the stress and that it entails her acting like a six-year-old. My words, not his. His explanation involved a lot of fancy terms and implications and other stuff. In any case, her mind's in its happy place and Annie seems content pretending to be a bird so we leave her be. Well, except for Finnick, who spends half the day following her through the train and finally, to humor her, borrows my tawny wings and plays her game.

Dr. Anders grumbles about six months of therapy being for naught. Looks like he'll be with us for a while. Oh joy.

At dinner, Annie pecks at her food—not _literally, _she uses her fingers—but doesn't seem to be intending to eat it. At least she isn't making bird noises, but she does hum for a while, before going quiet and retreating completely inside herself, eyes clamped shut, hands pressed firmly over her ears.

Beril shakes her head. "Damn them all." She snarls, then goes as silent as Annie who, thankfully, doesn't have a screaming fit or anything of the sort during the rest of the ride home.

When I wake up the next morning the first thing I notice is that the train is still. Which means we must be home. I yawn and stretch, arching my back, and sit up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. It normally doesn't take me this long to wake up, but the past days have sucked and I've really been drained.

I wash up in the bathroom and change into a tunic and shorts, gather my stuff, then head down to the breakfast compartment. Beril is eating a pastry and she's got a glass of what I hope is apple juice. But I doubt it is.

"Grab some grub then get your butt on home and get situated. Just be at the mayor's house by six."

"Alright," I say and head over to the food. I pile food on my plate and sit down to eat quickly. Lillian joins us a few minutes later. Beril eats slowly, in no apparent rush to leave the train. Lillian finishes first and gets up to leave.

"Hurry up you two before the train leaves with you still on it."

Beril takes a drink. "I think I'll have another plate, then."

Lillian sighed. "Just hurry up. You too, Dylan."

Beril gave no sign that she'd heard her and continued to chew slowly. I finished my food and headed for the door without glancing back at Beril. If she wants to go back to the Capitol, or District 6, wherever this train is stored, let her. If it wasn't for Finnick, Annie, and Ronan, I'd probably go with her. Really, I'd prefer the unknown to…to just…waiting.

I don't know what it is, but I…I'm waiting for something. Something that makes it all worth it. If it hadn't been me, then it would've been someone else who'd emerged as victor. Someone else who would've gone through this. All the tours, the parties, the people, the money, the fame…it's all…just… If everything does indeed happen for a reason, then there's a reason I'm alive and they're not. Pisces, Garret, Sawyer, Ellery, Leona, Arno, Jules, Silk, Annalee, Barlee, Sterra, Hara, Carson, Rinn, Liam, Proy, Brit, Natin, Whisp, Skyler, Lily, Fleece, Lister, and me. We were the tributes of the 69th Hunger Games. I can see each of their faces. I can hear all of their voices. I can see them as they looked in the sky after they died. I remember them. They were as alive I am now. Out of all of us, I was the only one that made it out.

All twenty-four of us, all twenty-four tributes in Annie's games, and all the tributes before us, we all had reasons to exist. I am stronger than I was before I went into the arena. Was that the only purpose that their lives served? To make me stronger? Is that the only reason they were born? Is that the only reason any of them were born? To make us victors?

If they all died so I could survive, then there is a reason I'm alive now. And…it can't be…this. My life isn't meant to be just an endless cycle of train rides taking me to and from home and the Capitol and back again. There's a reason I'm still alive. There _has _to be.

Otherwise…otherwise…

"Oh, seas, you look like hell."

I blink in surprise, noting for the first time the distance I've travelled while having that epiphany. Then I recognize the voice, at the same time I see him in front of me. "Ronan!" And without thinking, I drop my bags and leap forward to hug him. He stumbles back, nearly falling, but manages to steady both of us. I don't let go of him, though, and after a second, he hugs me, too.

"Whoa, easy," he says. "It's good to see you, too, Dylan. It's been kind of boring without you around. …Though, I gotta say, you've looked better."

"There's a reason for that," I say quietly, then I realize what I'm doing and where I am and I step back, easily breaking his grip. "It's been…quite a few weeks."

"I know," he says. "I saw you a few times on TV. I could tell what it was doing to you."

"No, I don't think you could," I say quietly.

The silence that follows is awkward. We both stand there, not really looking at each other, then he clears his throat. "Uh, want me to help you with those."

"Sure. …Thank you."

I sling my several of the bags back over my shoulders, but Ronan stops me, taking the heaviest and the rest like they weigh little more than a loaf of bread. He smiles then turns around, heading for Victors Village. I roll my eyes. Males.

"So, what are you doing out here?"

"Well, I saw Finnick in the Training Center, and he said you were probably still asleep on the train…so I was hoping to meet you on the way…maybe get a peek inside the train. You know, in case I never get to ride on one myself."

I clench my teeth together so hard that my head hurts. "Oh." I finally manage to get out. "Well, sorry I spoiled your chance."

"Eh, it's alright," he says, and even though I can't see his face, I'm sure he noticed the underlying anger in my voice. He, like me, has been trained to identify emotions both visually and vocally. It's a skill that can come in handy when trying to discern who you can trust.

We walk in silence for a few more minutes, then he clears his throat. "So, uh, I'd ask how it went, but I don't think you want to go there. How was the party? They showed pictures of all of you."

"What'd you think?"

"Uh, you guys looked good," he says, somewhat uncomfortable. "And, um, those wings were uh…interesting."

"I thought they were beautiful," I admit. "Annie's stylist made them for us. I still have mine. Or maybe Finnick has them. Eh, I'll find them later."

"Was your friend there?"

"Sol? Yeah. We hung out most of the time. He gave me a bracelet." I lift my arm a bit so he can see the gold chain and the sun hanging from the end.

He arches one eyebrow. "Someone's got a crush."

My cheeks flame, partly out of embarrassment. "No I do not!"

"Not you. Him."

"Now you're being just being silly," I dismiss. "He's just my friend. Besides, he knows damn well that I…well…it doesn't matter."

Ronan blinks at me, "If you say so."

I exhale slowly and look at the buildings of Victor's Village. I can smell the salt in the air, I feel the breeze ruffling my hair. "It's good to be home," I murmur. The other districts, the Capitol, none of them can compare to District 4.

"This is the best place in Panem, you know," I tell him. "You shouldn't ever leave for anything. The Capitol's flashy, but it's a lot of smoke and mirrors. Nothing there is what it seems to be, or it is exactly what it appears to be, and then it's horrible. Trust me, Ronan. You…really should just stay here."

He glances down at me. "What, not be a tribute, you mean? Just give it all up?"

I think that's anger in his voice. I decide to change the subject quickly, "I'm going to Crest to see my brother. I bought him a wedding gift…I'd like to give it to him and see if I'm welcome at the ceremony."

"But—"

"And I think I'm gonna go alone. But I do have something for you. I'll get it out when we get to my room."

Ten minutes later we're standing in my dorm with the bags dumped on my bed. Nixie isn't here right now so I guess I'll have to save our reunion for later. I pull out the gifts I have for everyone and set them on the bed. I'll give Mom the fabric later. I pull out the box containing the Strawberry Delight and present it to Ronan.

"There you go; a bona fide cake. Made in the Capitol by the best baker within two blocks from the Training Center with all natural strawberries and flavoring and no substitutes, enjoy."

Ronan carefully opens the box like it's liable to break at any second, and surveys the treat within. I stand there, waiting, then he reaches in and prods the cake with one finger. He examines the icing on his finger carefully.

"Oh for seas sake, it's not poisoned."

He plucks one of the strawberries off the top of the cake and pops it into his mouth. While I stow the two velvet boxes into my small beaded bag, he tears off tiny bites of the cake, chewing slowly.

"Alright, alright, out you go," I say. "I've got to get to Crest and back, get dressed, then get back to Crest before the dinner tonight!"

"This is really good," he tells me appreciatively. "Thanks a bunch!"Only, he's got food in his mouth, so it sounds like "Fanks a buch."

"You're welcome," I say. "I'll see you later."

An hour later, I'm standing in front of my old home. Luke's home now, since Mom and Dad moved in with Annie. He lives here with his fiancé. I swallow nervously, staring at the one place I know better than any other, which now seems ominous. I wonder what kind of reception will await me. I really hope I don't have to use the knife hanging from my belt. I slowly walk towards of the door, my stomach fluttering with more butterflies than I think I've ever had.

I pause in front of the door, swallowing noisily. Maybe this is a bad idea. Mom's probably already told him about our argument. I pulled a knife on her…he probably hates me even _more_ now.

_Pull it together, Dylan!_ I think. _You've been in the Hunger Games. You've looked death in the eye numerous times and always survived. You can _do_ this._

I bang my fist on the door three times before I can talk myself out of it. Then I slap my forehead. Stupid, stupid! Why'd I knock aggressively like that? Whoever answers the door is going to be expecting trouble or…or…

The door opens and a young woman peers out at me. She has golden, almost bronze-colored curly hair, which is pulled up in a ponytail. Her eyes are a sea green, much like Luke's, but unlike him, her form thin and her entire aura is demure. I blink at the doll-like young woman, amazed that Luke fell for someone this…this…fragile looking.

"Can I help you?" she asks in a steady voice that does not match her appearance. Her eyes narrow just a bit. "Oh," she says and I know she's recognized me. "You're Dylan…Luke's sister."

_Luke's sister, huh_? I think. I guess that's the only polite title she'd have for me. 'The victor' would be too formal, and 'the child-killer' would be beyond rude. And one thing I've noticed about ordinary folk, they tend to not be rude to victors. I wonder why.

"Yeeeuupp," I say, popping the 'p.' "What's your name?"

"Sora."

"So I guess you'll be Sora Syle soon. It's got a nice ring to it, I think. Is Luke here?"

"Yes," She says slowly.

"Can I talk to him?"

"…I suppose so."

"Am I allowed into my own home?"

"It is your home, isn't it?" she murmurs, almost to herself, then shakes her head quickly. "You're not here for trouble, are you? Luke…Luke doesn't talk about you much. And when he does, he makes it clear how your relationship is."

"Yeah, I tend to not have good relations with people," I say curtly. "So can I come in or not?"

Sora says nothing, looking at me intently for another moment, then steps back, opening the door for me. I step over the threshold, trying to look as calm as possible, but I can't help but feel Sora's welcome will be better than Luke's.

"Wait in there," She gestures to the kitchen. "I'll go get him. He's out back."

"Thank you," I say and head for the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, staring at the familiar room. At the table where all of us once ate together, where we laughed…when we were all alive, when we were happy.

I grip the doorframe when I feel my legs start to shake.

I remember the last time we were all here together. It was the day before the Reaping at dinner. Dad…was telling us about this huge sea turtle that got caught in one of the nets and Luke had his own story about the pod of dolphins that had decided to play around their boat. Evan and Lana told us about their training that day. Mom talked about a dress she was trying to make, and complaining that she wanted to use silk but didn't have any. And I…I was listening. I had no stories to tell, no real input except to laugh. I think…I think even then, I was still separate from them. I don't think I ever was really a part of the family after the trials.

_I should have tried harder. I should have been more involved. I should have…_

"I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again."

I shriek in alarm, whipping around in a fighting stance. Luke arches one eyebrow at me. I relax and back away from him into the kitchen. He's definitely gotten older. It's been a solid year since I've seen him, I think. His cheekbones are higher, his eyes a bit harder, and his muscles more defined now that he's beginning to start his own family.

"No," I say when I find my voice. "You told me never to ask for forgiveness from you until I earned it from all of them."

"Yeah, that was it."

"…I suppose you'll be happy to know then, that Skyler's twin forgave me."

Surprise appears on his face. "What?"

"Yeah. He forgave me for killing his brother. He told me himself the night I was in 10 on my tour. I don't know about the others…but…"

"Well," Luke says after a moment of silence. "How about that then. …You didn't wait a year and come all this way to tell me just that. What do you want?"

"I…I heard you were getting married." I answer honestly. "So I…I…had these made for you when I was in the Capitol yesterday."

"I don't want anything from the Capitol." He says automatically. "And if that's all you came for then you can take them and get out."

And that, right there, does it.

I grit my teeth then backhand him in his jaw. He's so surprised that he doesn't move except to reach up and rub the sore spot.

"You're an asshole, Luke Syle. Do you hear me? You're a cold-hearted asshole. Did you ever stop and think that maybe I'm suffering just as much as those families? That maybe I'm suffering _more_? No, of course you didn't. Because I'm a merciless wench who feels nothing, right? I'm not the merciless one here, Luke. You are." I take a step closer to him. "Because instead of helping me, instead of talking to me, you abandoned me. You're my _brother_."

I step closer. "I'm a killer. I know! I did horrible things! I've been punished for it before now and I'm getting punished every day! You have no _idea_ what these last few weeks have been like, never mind these last few months. …Did you know I'm afraid of rats now? I can't even look at one without remembering those damn mutts trying to _eat me_. And loud screaming…it reminds me of them, too. …Or do you even care?"

Luke stares at me while I fume silently.

"You think you're so important," I continue when it's clear he's not going to respond. "You've treated me like I'm unworthy. Unworthy of your forgiveness, unworthy of being in your presence, and other shark shit—you've acted like I'm unworthy of being your sister, ever since I got home from the trials when I sixteen.

"Do you know I've been staying away from you not only because I didn't think you liked me, but because I wanted to be sure you didn't get killed too? I've made sure I associate with almost no one outside the trials. Because I don't want them to use anyone against me. …Do you see these scars? I did them myself, you know. Every single one of them. Because the Capitol sells the beautiful victors. They sell our bodies to residents. They do it to Finnick all the time. And he lets them, because if not, they kill someone he loves. So I made myself…ineligible. And now my own _mother_ can't even stand the sight of me. …Do you even _care! _Say something!" I snarl when he still doesn't respond. And he remains quiet after that, too.

"…I don't know why I even bothered. You're a cold, cruel bastard, that's what you are. Fine, I'll get out. Enjoy your life, you son of a bitch." I pull the velvet boxes out of my bag and throw them at his feet, then shove past him and head for the front door.

Sora hovers in the hallway, looking at me like I've sprouted two heads. I snarl at her as I pass, then yank the door open and slam it shut behind me. I take off running, heading for the familiar tree in the front yard like I always used to, and then I remember that it's not my tree anymore, and I change course, heading for the street.

Then, behind me, I hear Luke yell my name.

I stop, panting, then turn around slowly. Luke's standing in the doorway, holding one of the velvet boxes. It's open. He looks down at it, then up at me. And then he smiles just a little bit. He nods once, holding his hand up in farewell. I lift my hand in the same way, not smiling, then turn and walk away.

* * *

**Heheheheh...ahhhh...I still can't believe you all fell for it...**

**Review and stuff :3 Because if you do...I maaayyy just drop a tiny spoiler for the next chapter...which just so happens to be centered around Ronan and Dylan... C'mon...you know you wanna know... **


	30. Heartbreak

**Posting this in honor of prom tonight. No, don't have a date. Goin with my cousin and friends. Wish me luck!**

**(And by wish me luck I mean: Pray I don't fall and kill myself.)  
**

**You know who else needs luck? Ronan. Cuz he's about to fight for his place in the Hunger Games.  
**

* * *

I put my fingers in my mouth and let out a sharp whistle.

There are eight boys about to fight in the Finals: Ronan, Balor, Zal, Erwin, Lamar, and three boys I don't know. All of them turn automatically at the whistle and salute respectfully when they identify me. I nod once, formally, and they drop the salute.

"Ronan Flit, come with me. I need to speak with you."

He blinks warily, "Alright."

I step to the side and motion for him to go. He throws me a look that says _'what are you doing?_' as he passes me, but he keeps his mouth shut. I turn to the others who are looking confused. "Good luck to you all. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

Ronan waits at the end of the hall. I motion for him to follow me and I keep walking. When I think we're far enough from the boys that they won't overhear, I stop and turn around to face him.

"What's up, Dylan?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. "I'm not in trouble…am I?"

"No, you're not, um…I just wanted to say…" I sigh. "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't do it."

"Don't do _what_?" he asks.

I close my eyes. "Don't do the Finals."

He's silent for a second. "Why?"

"I…you…just…don't. Please." I open my eyes and look at him pleadingly.

"If I forfeit then I don't get another chance. I'm not injured. I've got no excuse. I don't do this then I'm out. You know that." His eyes narrow.

_Yes, I do._ I stare hard at the tips of my shoes. I want him out. I want Ronan out of the Trials and as far away from the Hunger Games as possible. I don't want another person I love to die because of the Capitol. But I won't take this from him. I won't abuse my power as a trainer. He's worked for so long for this. I want him to quit on his own or lose fair and square. But how can I ask him to do this?

…I…can't.

Without answering, I turn around and walk back down the hall, ignoring his soft protest, "Hey, what…?"

Down the hall and to the right, then up the stairs to the viewing seats above the battle arena. Tears trickle from my eyes. I wipe them away hastily and try to calm myself before my eyes turn red. I locate Finnick in the third row from the front and I make my way over to him, plopping down on the bench beside him. Finnick's head snaps around the moment my butt hits the wood and he relaxes once he identifies me. Then his eyes tighten.

"What happened?"

I swallow, looking down over the arena. The wooden imitation of the cornucopia lies in the dead center with plates scattered equally around it in a circle. Weapons are scattered around it, waiting to be used. There are several wounded girls on the ground and the winner has just been declared—a short, stocky girl with waves of bronze hair, about the shade of Finnick's, and a vicious smile on her face. People clap and cheer but I remain silent and still, watching her with narrowed eyes. Medics come rushing out to tend to the wounded ones and several people in white medic uniforms wait by the wall with stretchers to be called over because there is always someone who is incapable of walking or _shouldn't_ walk out of there. I was one of those.

After a moment, the lead medic makes a gesture with his arms for all of us to see. None of the girls were killed.

The winner marches out of the arena, chin high, and within five minutes all of the wounded have been removed one way or another and a cleaning crew is on the field wiping up blood and other litter and returning the weapons to the pile for the boys. Then I finally answer Finnick.

"I went looking for Ronan. I meant to tell him good luck, but…just…it slipped out."

A beat. "What did?"

"I…asked him not to do the Finals."

Finnick's silent.

"He asked me why and said that if he forfeited the Finals he gets the boot—which is true."

"And what did you say?"

"I didn't. I just turned and left."

Finnick takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "Well. Maybe he'll take the fall. Maybe he won't. We'll see." Then he puts his arm around me comfortingly and holds it there tightly.

Five minutes pass. The cleaning crews exit. The lights dim and the viewers get quiet. The door opens and eight boys march through. Ronan, Lamar, Balor, Zal, and Erwin, plus three other boys who are retaking the Finals. They move to their pre-assigned plates and stand, waiting. The door closes, locks, and the lights come up. The viewers wait silently. No talking until the pistol fires in sixty seconds.

The boys look around at the viewers and at their arena as they were taught to do, getting a lay of the land, formulating a plan, and locating their weapons. Ronan scans the crowd quickly and his head pauses when he spots me seated with Finnick. He looks confused. I keep my face perfectly smooth and blank but my eyes don't leave his.

_Look away_, I think. _Look away if you want to be prepared._

As if he heard me, Ronan looks away and I close my eyes. Several things happen at once.

The starting gun fires, my eyes snap open, the audience begins to cheer, and the boys fly off their plates. They get their weapons. Zal immediately scampers away from the action, bow clenched in his hands, and fires into the fighting.

I focus on Ronan. He's got two short swords in his hands and a replacement in his belt. He lunges at Balor who turns, bringing his sword up just in time to block a blow that would've eliminated him from the competition. The fight doesn't take long even though Balor fights better at close range. Ronan whips the tip of his sword up Balor's face and the latter backs away from Ronan with his hand and sword in front of him while his other hand goes to his face. Ronan knocks the sword from his hands gives him a fierce kick in the legs and Balor drops to the ground. Ronan points the sword at Balor's face and the latter nods, shrinking away. Surrenders.

Now he can either lay there or get his beaten butt over to the sidelines. Since he can walk, Balor skitters over to the wall and collapses against it, trying to staunch the blood flow with his shirt.

It's a dirty move, but Ronan slashes a line up the back of the dark-haired redo boy who's trying to get close to Zal. Zal doesn't notice, too focused on Ronan beating down the redo boy, but Erwin is creeping quickly towards the archer with a knife pressed against his forearm. Zal must sense him, but it's too late when he finally turns. Erwin lunges and punches him square in the face. He makes quick work of Zal who doesn't even get a moment to pull an arrow out to jab at Erwin.

The dark haired redo boy is down and Ronan is moving in on Erwin while he's still beating Zal into submission. I do a quick sweep. Balor, Lamar, the dark-haired redo, and the red-haired redo are down. The light-haired redo, Erwin, Ronan, and Zal are still in the game, but Zal is probably finished. Stupid boy. From what I can tell, he hasn't surrendered yet. If he doesn't, Erwin can and probably will kill him, or at least knock him out.

Yep. He punches Zal right on the head, knocks him cold.

Ronan lunges at Erwin before he can even fully turn around and Erwin throws his arm with the blade up to block one of Ronan's swords but he's got no way to block the other blade and Ronan slashes Erwin across the stomach and even on his side a bit. He snarls something to Erwin that I can't hear and Erwin nods quickly, lowering his arm. Ronan kicks him down next to Zal and whirls around.

The light-haired redo has been waiting on the fringes to see who would win and now he holds his trident at the ready for Ronan. Ronan waits, breathing heavily, and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

They circle each other, each waiting for the other to strike first. Finally, Ronan does and sprints towards the redo with one sword horizontal in front of him. The clanging of their weapons echoes strangely in my ears. It's as if these two planned what they'd do before the fight. They strike and dodge at just the right times, neither able to get the advantage on the other. …Until Ronan gets whacked with the butt of the trident. He jumps away, teeth gritted in pain. For a moment, he looks up at me in the stands. I stare back, wondering, fleetingly, what my face looks like. Then the redo lunges and Ronan moves just a second too late and one of the spikes rips into his side.

I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth, and my leg muscles tense as the urge to jump down there and beat the salt out of the blonde boy rises up inside of me.

Ronan hobbles away, his arm pressed against the wound, and then as the boy charges him again, hemoves a second too late and gets another wound. _He's doing it on purpose. _I realize. _He wants to lose._ Something flutters in my stomach.

Ronan gets one final injury and seems to deem it adequate enough because he staggers away, holding his hand up. The redo boy grins then throws his fist into the air. Ronan straightens up, a smirk on his face, and I realize that Ronan didn't officially surrender. His mouth never said the words and the boy didn't ask. It was a trick.

The redo realizes this at the last second when Ronan slashes the unprepared boy in the chest with both swords, bringing the right one back up to the boy's throat. I hear him demand surrender. The boy's face is twisted with anger, but there isn't really much he can do, even with that trident still in his hands. If he doesn't agree in the next few seconds then he's probably going to get his throat slit. Finally, he nods and drops the trident.

Ronan wins.

I should be happy for him. He won; he's going to get what he wants now. But all I can think about is the empty feeling in my gut and the clenching in my chest. Ronan won. He will be our tribute. I am going to lose him. Because he will die: even if he wins the Games, he will never be the same.

It's that knowledge that sends the tears streaming out of my eyes and I let out a small sob, my body shaking. Finnick puts his other arms around me and holds me closer despite all the watching eyes. I bury my face in his shoulder and try to stop the sobs by taking deep breaths. When I remove my head from Finnick's shoulder I see Ronan watching us, his face a mixture of confusion and…anger?

I try to smile at him but all I manage is half-grin, half-grimace.

"Dylan, maybe you should get out of here," Finnick suggests quietly. "You can come by my dorm later if you want to talk."

I nod.

"Bring Nixie, if you want."

I choke out a laugh and pull away from him. I give Ronan another glance; he's still watching me with mixed emotions on his face. I turn away and get the hell out of there.

In my room, I collapse on my bed and curl up into a little ball. Nixie's out somewhere and not _here_ where I really need her. I settle for the pillow of soft fur that I bought last week and pull it to my chest, burying my face in the material. I refuse to sob, though. Even here in the privacy of my room. Tears can fall if they want—I won't be able to stop them anyway—but I will not lose control. I can't.

When Nixie comes back she immediately springs onto my bed. I put the pillow under my head and pull my soft kitty close. She mewls a protest but doesn't try to get away. She settles down, pressed against my chest with a soft purr rumbling in her throat as I gently stroke her and try to ignore the pain in my chest.

Over the next few weeks I make a point of avoiding Ronan. I don't think I'll be able to face him without decking him a good one and/or screaming at him. I don't go near the gyms where he's training. I don't eat in the cafeteria. I spend days on the boats. On the day after the Finals, Leathan asks me who won. I break down crying and that's all the answer he needs. After that he does not bring up Ronan Flit or anything pertaining to the Hunger Games at all. The closest he comes is asking how Annie is doing.

She's recovering slowly. She barely leaves the house, though, unless she's accompanied by Finnick or Anders or both of them and Finnick says she's not too happy with my mother who is still not too happy with me. She must've found out about the argument somehow. Overheard something. In any case, no one even mentions the Trials around her.

One good thing about all of it is that Garret is silent. I don't hear him anymore. Not even when I'm feeling miserable. He's gone, I think. Probably forever. The thought makes me break down crying again and Leathen, who is used to me randomly crying now, takes me below decks then goes back up to do our work. It's heartbreaking, but it is time I moved on from Garret. I love him, I always will, but he's gone. He's dead in every sense. I'm alive. So I need to live.

About a month after the Finals all my efforts at avoiding Ronan go out the window when I open my door and find him standing there. I yelp and slam the door. _Craaaaaaaabs!_

"Hello to you, too," he says through the door.

Damn, damn, damn!

"Dylan. I know you've been avoiding me."

"Yeah," I say back. "And you're making it difficult right about now."

"Open the door, please."

I do but I don't step out of my room. He folds his arms and glares at me. …Did he get taller?

"What do you want?" I demand.

Ronan raises an eyebrow. "I've got the day off. Didn't you promise to take me on the _Denali_ again?" Only then do I notice what he's wearing. White tunic and dark green pants plus deck boots. After he was such a help the first time he accompanied me to the _Denali_, Irwin said he could come back with me any time he was free so long as he pulled his weight.

"We were supposed to meet at the main door," he says pleasantly. "But I figured since you seem to be avoiding the front doors like they've got scurvy, I'd better come here to make sure I don't get left behind."

Damn, he's good. But was I really that obvious? "Oh. That was before," I say.

"Before?" He asks, eyebrow still up.

"Before the Finals," I say. "You can leave now." And I slam the door again, but this time his foot shoots out and stops the door before it can close. It has to hurt, but he doesn't even grimace. Behind me, Nixie protests loudly at the ruckus.

"Y'hear that?" I say through the bit of door that's open. "You better get gone before my cat gets over here. She's vicious."

"Just like her owner."

"Damn right," I say.

"Mind releasing my foot, oh vicious one?"

I grit my teeth but open the door just enough so he can pull his foot out. I don't close the door, though. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

"Nope."

"Fine. You can come to the boat with me today," I say. "But I got work to do. We're going after starfish today. That means us divers are gonna be busy."

I step out of my room and close the door, glaring up at him. He glares back, a mixture of confusion, hurt, and anger in his eyes. And I ask myself why I'm being so mean to him. Ok, sure, I'm a little mad, but not so much at him as I am the Hunger Games. I _did _ask him to quit, but didn't tell him _why_. And, in a way, he is doing this for his sister…

"I can't believe you did that," I say as we're walking out of the gate.

"Did what?" he asks. "Stuck my foot in the door? Waited outside your room? Angered your cat?"

"No." I say. "I can't believe you tricked him like that. You fight dirty, Ronan."

He catches on and smirks. "Yeah, well, there's no rule on how to fight in the arena."

"True. But your surrendering stunt won't work in the arena," I say. "He would've killed you."

"I know, but don't worry, I've got a plan," he says matter-of-factly. "All I've got to do is get a fool of a tribute to fall in love with me, help me for a while, then get her killed when the playing field get's smaller."

I shoot him a dirty look. He's scowling at me and I realize that he's not making a joke. Then the full implications of what he said sink in and I whirl, slapping him right across the face.

"Shut up!" I spit as he reels back. "Don't you _ever_ mock him, or me, like that, do you hear? That is not what happened!"

I give him another look of anger then spin around and storm away, leaving him behind. He doesn't get the message, though, and follows me.

"Or," he continues as he catches up. "I could get Finnick to go sleep with a few Capitol people so they'll give me their money."

I spin around again, hands clenched into fists, teeth bared. That _is _probably what happened, but it's not like Finnick had any choice. He just milked it for all it was worth. In any case, I didn't _ask _him to. "Don't even talk about _that_, Ronan."

"You're right," he says. "Finnick wouldn't do that for me. He's not my boyfriend."

I grit my teeth. "Why does everyone and their brother think I'm in love with Finnick Odair? To the Locker with you, Flit!" And I storm away, feeling a sickening pain my gut. My heart hurts, an old, familiar feeling that I hate.

But he keeps following me. "You spend a lot of time with him. I saw you going into his room one night."

I bristle further, anger and pain overwhelming me. "You were following me?"

"Yes, actually," he says. "Like I am now. Because I wanted to talk to you."

I veer off the road and dart into the long grass. I glance back and see him still following me. Once we're far from the roads and buildings, I whirl around so quickly that he barely has time to avoid hitting me and I roundhouse kick him in the stomach. He staggers back, winded.

"You want to talk?" I spit. "Alright, then! Talk! And I swear on my little sister's grave, if you make anymore jabs like that, I will beat you bloody."

Ronan holds his stomach, glaring furiously at me, but he nods.

"Now, mind telling me where _that_ came from?" I snap. "Garret and Finnick? Are you just trying to piss me off?" The look on his face is all the answer I need. "Oh, alright. I get it. So, what did you want to talk to me about, boy?"

"What the hell is up with you?" he demands. "One minute you're sweet and bringing me gifts from the Capitol and the next you're avoiding me like I've got the plague."

I square my shoulders. "It was for my sake as well as yours," I say. "I didn't feel like slapping you the moment I saw you and if you'd come before today, I probably would've."

"Why?"

Why indeed. "I shouldn't even be talking to you now." I say. "I should leave and never speak to you again. And if you had any sense, you would do the same."

"Well, maybe I'm still senseless from that beating I just took," he says. "Since you're going to be cryptic, let me ask this: why did you tell me not to compete?"

I close my eyes and when I speak, my voice is much calmer. "I don't want you to be a victor, Ronan."

He makes a sound that's something between a growl and snort.

"It's not what it's cracked up to be." I say. "I don't want you to…to suffer like us."

"Suffer?" his voice is dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, you've got all the money you could ever need, you don't have to work, you can go to the Capitol twice a year, you're in charge of tribute training, and you're respected. How you suffer so."

"Yes," I say. "And in between all that, what do you think happens? You've got no idea, do you? …Well, let me fill you in on the details." I snarl. "We have nightmares every night. Every. Single Night. We feel unstoppably guilty. We hear their screams; we re-watch their deaths over and over. Annie doesn't know what's real and what isn't, most the time. Some of us lost people we loved because we upstaged the Capitol. …Zaire lost his arms. Reno lost his girlfriend. Lillian lost her children. Finnick has his body sold every year in the Capitol. Why? Because he doesn't want them to kill Annie. Annie, who he's had to watch suffer these past months. Finnick is in love with Annie, Ronan. Not me. He doesn't love me, he never has, but we've allowed those damn rumors to persist. You know why? To protect her."

I open my eyes for a moment. Ronan is staring at me in disbelief.

"And me? Well, my little sister and brother, Lana and Evan, were murdered because of me. Because I survived when I should've died there with Garret. People hate me for what I've done. My own mother and brother don't even love me like they used to anymore. I have night terrors; I'm scared of rats and loud screaming. I can't stand either of them." I close my eyes again. I take a deep breath, and then just give in to letting everything out. "I guess I might as well tell you everything…

"I hear Garret's voice in my head. He's been my conscience since he died. He's…he's gone now. I think I've finally learned to do it, to cope, on my own. But he was there for a long time. He talked to me when I was sad, scared, or angry. Sometimes he didn't say anything, but when he didn't Finnick was there to help me.

"And you want to know something else that I've never admitted? Sometimes…it seems like my hands are stained with the color of blood. I don't like to look at them." But I do now as I tell him this. "Sometimes…I can see the red there from the children I murdered…"

I trail off, unable to speak past the enormous lump in my throat. I look away from my hands and, unable to bear looking at Ronan's face, I fix my eyes on a small round rock in front of my toes. Ronan says nothing, but I hear him breathing shakily. I turn around and sit down on the ground, staring at the lightening morning sky.

"I didn't mean to get him killed." I say. "I still beat myself up over that. I didn't ask Finnick to convince the people who bought him to sponsor me. He did that one on his own. …Do you want to know how I got these scars? I did them myself. The one on my face; slashed myself. The one on my arm; made sure when I fell that I hit the equipment just right. I made myself slide down those rocks for the scars on the side of my neck."

"Why?" he croaks quietly.

"Because I didn't want to get sold like Finnick is. He's so handsome, people want him. So they get to buy him or they earn him as a pretty prize. And if he ever said no, they, those who control us, would kill someone he loved. I don't want to be sold. I don't want them to kill my family. So I made myself less physically desirable. Self-preservation, it's one of the things you'll _really _learn in the arena."

"I…I didn't…I didn't know…" he says.

"No," I say bitterly. "You didn't. Neither did I until it was too late. But now you know the secret behind our madness. Congratulations. Now you know your wonderful future. If you survive."

Ronan doesn't respond audibly and I'm still not looking at him. It's so much easier to just look at the lightening sky. He must seriously regret his taunts now. Either that or he's got no brain or heart, and I seriously doubt that.

"And…you're always with Finnick…because…"

"Because, for one, it keeps the spotlight off of Annie." I say. "And two, because he's my friend and he's my age and the only other remotely sane one around my age is Beril and she's not someone I can be buddy-buddy with, if you know what I mean. So, I hang out with Finnick. It's kind of a 'my shoulder is your shoulder' thing. I need to cry, he lends his shoulder. He needs to cry, I lend mine. That time I went into his room? It was just because I wanted to talk to him and he said I could come over. Nothing happened—not like you were thinking, anyway."

I swallow. "A lot of things like that have been misinterpreted. You know, Annie caught us in the Capitol. We were sitting in the sitting room. He'd been crying so I had my arm around him. We were talking and at one point I kissed his cheek. We didn't know Annie was in the doorway. _That _was an interesting evening." I chuckle to myself, then sober up and swallow. "Anyway, nothing's ever romantically happened between us and neither of us want anything to. He loves Annie. I like…someone else."

Ronan's eerily silent and I wonder if he's left. Either way, I don't feel like talking anymore. So, without looking, I stand up. "Go home. I'm not going out today, I decided, and you can't go out if I don't go. By the way, they've got strawberries at the market. You know, if you want some."

Then I walk away and don't look back.

I head down the road towards Crest, but I stay on the outskirts of the town and head down to a remote part of the beach. I spend the day on the beach. Laying in the sand or swimming in the shallow waves. I'm careful not to go too far out because this is the place where I saved Pisces all those years ago. Though, perhaps it would be easier just to let Fate take me. No one knows I'm here. I could just disappear through the Door and no one would know.

I stare out at the surface of the water that conceals the dangerous current beneath. So easy…so simple. Then it'd all be over. I could be with Garret and Pisces and Lana and Evan and everyone else. So simple. So tempting. I'm waist-deep in the water before I realize my legs are carrying me towards Fisherman's Fate. I stop, my hands skimming the surface of the water. And what would happen if I do disappear? I'll be leaving people behind. My mother and father. Ronan. Annie. Finnick. Sol. Leathan. What will be done to them if I do go through Fate's Door? I don't know. I've hurt so many. Do I really want to risk hurting more?

I close my eyes and fall backwards as a wave sweeps around me. I roll over and bodysurf back to shore then I sit at the shoreline, letting the waves crash against my back until the tide starts to really come in and I move away. That's when I realize how hungry I am. I haven't eaten all day. My stomach growls in protest so I gather up my boots and the clothes I had on over my dive suit and trudge towards Victor's Village.

The walk seems to take hours. I feel miserable, partly wishing I'd just gone into the damn current and gotten it over with. So easy…so simple…

I stop in the bakery and grab a loaf of bread, promising the baker that I'll pay him later (and he knows I will), then eat it on the way back to the center. I skip the dining hall completely and head straight to my room. Nixie is perched on the narrow windowsill, staring out at the world. She turns her head when I enter the room and trills out a welcoming _mew_ and rises to her paws, arching her back just a bit.

"Hey, girlie," I say. "Got something for you." I set the small piece of bread remaining on the bed and she jumps down to investigate the morsel I've presented to her. I hear the wet sound of her chewing on the bread as I peel off my clothes and suit and change into gray threadbare pants—one of the few pieces of clothing remaining from my pre-victor days—and a thin white sleeveless top. I plop down on the bed next to Nixie who is still happily munching away, a loud purr rumbling in her throat.

So, so simple. Easy. I could go back right now. Walk in. Disappear.

Someone would take care of Nixie. At the very least they'd permit her to keep living here. The next occupant of this room would just have to make do.

So simple. And then I'd been with everyone again. Garret. Pisces. Rilee. Sawyer. Evan. Lana.

I close my eyes…drowning in the memories that rush forward.

"_Whoa!" I breathe. "It's…wow!"_

_Pisces is standing right behind me. "You'll be a sap for the Capitol."_

_I turn to glare at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"_

_He smiles and leans against the compartment wall. "You're attracted to pretty things like a fish to bait."_

"_Which is why you have no effect on me."_

_He tsked softly and shook his head very slowly, "denial."_

…

"_You look good," he says._

_I raise my eyebrows. "Are you kidding? Hell, they could see me from home wearing this thing!" I tug on the neon shirt. _

_He grins. "Exactly. Wouldn't want you to get lost, would we?"_

_I scowl. "Who put you up to this?"_

"_Finnick." _

"_Go figure," I mutter. "Traitor." _

…

"_I think we need to step up our game," Garret jokes._

_I roll my eyes. "Pun not appreciated."_

…

_I slosh through the water towards shore and push him over when I get close enough. "Hey—what?" I yank off his boots then he starts kicking before I can remove the socks._

_I slap his foot. "Knock it off! You get your butt into the water or I'll hang you by your ankles till sunset and not feed you until dawn."_

…

"_What's with you and nooses?" I ask._

_Sawyer shivers again. _

"_Someone close got hung?" I guess._

_She nods. "My…my best friend." _

…

"_I'm...Garret. Garret Kollin." he says timidly. "You're Dylan."_

"_Dylan Syle." I confirm and smile a bit. "Don't call me Dilly."_

"_Wasn't planning on it."_

"_Good." _

…

_I scowl and, deciding to get him back, I yank the shirt over my head and put my hands on my hips. He stares at my bare-except-for-undergarments torso for a second, then his face goes deep scarlet. "Dylan!" _

"_What?" I ask innocently, sitting down._

"_Please."_

"_Please what?"_

_He grits his teeth. "Please put your shirt back on." _

"_Nah."_

…

_Screaming my name over and over in high-pitched voices of excitement, my little brother and sister sprint towards me faster than striking sharks. Lana's hair streams out behind her and she nearly trips twice and Evan stumbles a few times, too. They crash into me and it's all I can do to not fall over or start crying again._

…

_My curiosity melts into horror when I read the number on the plate._

_8._

_District 8. District freaking no-nature-or-chance-to-learn-survival-skills 8. Garret Kollin, the boy who gets kisses at the reaping and gives out piggy-back rides._

_This isn't...fair!_

_I want a new plate! No, too late. They're all taken. Nothing to do now but work with what I've got. I whirl and sprint towards Garret. He sees me coming and glances around nervously. _

"_Move!" I growl, shoving him off his plate towards the water._

_..._

_For some reason, Evan starts singing a child's song in the Capitol accent. _

One little fishy fish

Two little fishy fish

There are three little fishy fish

In the sea!

…

"_Dylan…"_

_I wait._

"_If…if you win, will you do me a favor?" _

"_What is it?"_

"_Give my sister a hug for me during the Victory Tour. I…I said something to her when she was trying to say goodbye and when she tried I wouldn't let her hug me. So…give her a hug for me, please?"_

"_Okay."_

"_Promise?"_

"_I promise."_

…

_As I'm trying to drift off, he starts humming softly. I recognize the tune from back home but how does he know it? Do they sing it in District 8, too? I open my eyes to find him staring at me. _

"_What?"_

"_That song, we sing it back in my district, too."_

"_I know," he says. I wish those glasses didn't obscure his eyes. I can usually tell how he's feeling by looking at them._

_I close my eyes and shift a bit deeper into the bag. A minute later, he starts humming the same song again, like a lullaby…_

…

_He looks so helpless now that he is dead, so much like a little child without his eyes to make him appear more mature, but I still see him in the dead boy in front of me. _

"_Oh, Pisces," I whisper. "We fell into a trap, you and me." I swallow past the lump in my throat. "You did exactly what the Gamemakers wanted, you son of an urchin. You should've just told Fleece to kill Garret. I'm sorry, Pisces, I'm sorry. I should've let you die that day in the water."_

…

"_I'm coming!" I scream, floundering towards him in the water. The current is strong, so strong. My whole body aches. Fight it. I have to fight it. I have to save them. I see Pisces. He's struggling just ahead of me. _

"_Help me!" he yells._

"_I'm coming Pisces!" I scream over the roaring of the water. I can't find Frilo. Where is he?_

_Pisces wails in terror. The sound is cut off when he's thrown against a rock. I lunge forward and manage to get hold of him before he sinks under. I hold him as tightly as I can and look around for something to grab onto. There's a rock ahead. I kick furiously towards it. I'm not gonna die here. I'm gonna live. Pisces is gonna live._

_Where's Frilo? I don't see him… gotta get to the rock._

_I grab onto the rock with my hand, fumbling for a groove, and when I find one I hang on and don't get go. Pisces is heavy, my arm feels like it's about to be pulled out of it's socket. Pisces is bleeding. His blood stains the water and my shirt…_

"_I got you, Pisces…!" I shout to my unconscious friend. "I ain't gonna let you go…"_

"_Here! Here!" Janie screams somewhere not too far off. "They're here…!"_

…

"_You're here! You're here!" I scream excitedly and run towards her, wrapping my arms around her leg. Rilee smiles down at me, her bright green eyes bright. Her dark read hair is in a messy ponytail. I dunno why she does that. I like my hair down. _

"_Hey, Dilly-doll." She says, bending down to pick me up. I don't squirm. I'm a big girl now. I don't need to be picked up. But Rilee's never here. She doesn't get to pick me up as much. So I let her. "Happy birthday." She says. "Wow, you're six now, right?"_

_I nod. She remembered! "Yeah! Mommy says I can go fishing all by myself now…as long as Luke's around. But I get to hold the pole on my own!"_

"_Well, that's a big responsibility. You'll have to be very, very careful."_

"_Can you come fishing with me the next time they let you out?"_

"…_I'm going to be going away soon, Dilly-doll. I'll be on the television screen. I'm going to the Hunger Games, remember?"_

_I nod. "I know. You've been learnin' how to be in there. And you're gonna win, aren't ya? Then you get to live in a pretty house and you can buy me pretty stuff and come fishing with me _every day!_" I grin excitedly. _

"_Sure, Dilly-doll. Every day," she promises._

_..._

_I climb out of bed and run to the TV. I want to see what Rilee's doing. She ran away from her allies yesterday. Mommy says they aren't her allies anymore. Dunno why. But Mommy says Rilee might be home soon. I like watching Rilee on the TV…but she can't hear me talking to her. I don't like that._

_When I get into the TV room, Daddy's already there. The TVs…off. Why is it off? It's not been off since the Hunger Games started. Daddy's not looking at me. I walk towards the TV to turn it back on so I can see Rilee, but Daddy stops me._

"_No, Dylan. Don't turn it on." He says._

_I pause, my hand on the button. "I wanna watch Rilee."_

_Something's wrong with Daddy. He looks so…sad. And he's…he's crying! "Why are you crying, Daddy?"_

_He wipes his eyes and beckons me over. I go to him and he puts his hands on my shoulders. "Dylan…Dylan…Rilee…isn't going to be on the TV anymore."_

"_Why? Is she coming home now? Did she win?" _

"_No, she's not coming home now." _

_I frown. He's making no sense. "I want to watch Rilee!"  
_

"_Rilee isn't on the TV anymore, Dylan."_

"_Then where is she?"_

"_She's…she's gone to sleep." Dad says, his voice breaking. _

"_Oh. When's she gonna wake up?"_

"_She's…not going to wake up anymore, Dylan. She's going to stay asleep."_

"_Why?" I whine. "She promised me we'd go fishing every day when she came home! She has to wake up! …I want her to wake up and come home right now!"_

"_Just tell her the truth!" Luke shouts from the doorway. I jump and turn. He looks so angry but he's crying, too. His wipes his eyes then shouts at me. "Dylan! Rilee's dead! She got killed last night. She isn't gonna wake up and she isn't coming home."_

…

_Mommy didn't want me to see, but I want to. I lean around her legs. Rilee's in the wooden box. She's pale. Sleeping. _

"_Wake up, Rilee!" I scream._

…

"_Dilly, please, stop it." Luke says._

"_Don't call me Dilly!" I tell him. "Only Rilee gets to call me Dilly. You gotta wake Rilee up if you want to call me Dilly."_

"…_Rilee can't wake up." Luke says. "Mom told you that."_

_"Then you don't call me Dilly!" I shout, stamping my foot._

A knock on the door jerks me out of the memories and my eyes fly open. I suck in a sharp breath, blinking in surprise. It was barely sunset when I arrived in my room. Now the sky is dark. Granted it's winter and the sky gets dark quickly during these months, but _still_!

Another knock.

"Who is it?" I call.

"Finnick," His voice sounds a bit funny. He's probably in what Beril has recently dubbed a "funk." I take a deep breath. Time for another round of our-lives-suck, but since I usually feel a bit better after these things, I slide off my bed and walk towards the door, my bare feet sliding across the carpet.

I open the door, "Hey, Fin. What's—eumph!"

It's not Finnick. That much registers before the person outside my door swears quietly and I'm pushed back into my room. I stumble away from the man and when I hear the door slam shut my body automatically snaps into action. I barrel roll across the floor towards my closet—the closest and most convenient location of any weapons—and I hear the footsteps of my assailant as I plunge my hand behind the clothes, fixing my grip on the hilt of something, and yank it out.

I bring the blade up in front of me and crouch defensively in front of my weapons, ready to snag another.

The intruder sees the blade and stops mid-stride before backing away quickly. "Whoa! Whoa!"

I blink, then I scowl and snarl out, "Ronan Flit, what in the name of Poseidon's bloody beard are you _doing_?"

"Trying not to get stabbed," he says, hovering nervously near the door.

"You can't just come barging in my room!"

"Uh, sorry," he says. "I heard a hall monitor coming."

"…I oughta run you straight through." I growl and jam the blade into the wall, straightening up. "You can't just come barging into my room like that! What if I hadn't recognized you? I'd a killed you!"

"Hall. Monitor."

"I should go get that hall monitor!" I rage. "It'd serve you right!"

"I'm sorry, alright! I…I had to talk to you…"

"I think there was plenty of talking earlier." I growl.

"I know, I know." He says. "And I am so, _so _sorry, I…I didn't know. But, _please_."

"I told you all you need to know," I snap, clenching and unclenching my fists, itching to punch him.

"No, you didn't," Ronan says and, in the dim light, I can see how pleading his face is. "Please."

I swallow, uncurling my fists, and stare at him. He stares back, waiting. Suddenly I am acutely aware that we're alone in my bedroom at night and I'm barely wearing anything. "Alright, but we're not talking in here. We'll go out to the fields, if you want."

"It's kind of chilly outside," he says.

"I've got a fur coat," I retort, turning back to my closet. "I think I'll be fine. Out you get."

"Dylan… about earlier…. Look, there's no point in going outside. I'm just gonna say it then I'll go. I'm sorry. I was upset."

"Really?" I mutter scathingly, pushing clothes aside to find the Capitol coat.

"That day after the Finals, I…I was looking for you in the stands. I thought you'd be so excited that I'd won, but when I found you, you were all cuddled up with Finnick! Then you started avoiding me. I…I had no idea what was going on. You'd been so nice before. You acted like you…" He trailed off for a moment, then picked up with more anger. "And then you suddenly didn't want anything to do with me? What was I supposed to think?"

My hands linger on the clothes, but I've stopped searching for the coat. I stay silent.

"I know. Those were unspeakable subjects. I knew before I even opened my mouth. I didn't really mean to hurt you. Okay, yeah I did, but I was angry and hurt. I am sorry. So sorry. But, Dylan…why? Why were you avoiding me? What did I do? Please, just tell me that at least. Why do you suddenly hate me?"

"I don't hate you," I say. _Quite the opposite actually. But you're really, _really _making it difficult today._ "But…I was…hurt, too, I guess. I asked you to quit Ronan. I did. And I thought you were going to…until the last second. I thought you were honestly taking the fall. I was so…happy when you backed away from him because you would've been out and free. You would've been _safe_. …But you didn't listen."

"You didn't tell me why, Dylan. I know the risks of the Game but I want to play! How can I just…give up half my life's work without a damn good reason?"

I close my eyes. "Haven't you seen the other victors? Don't you see what we become? Look at the victors for the lesser districts. They're alone and they fall apart. We only fare better in 4, 2, and 1 because we have each other. And even then it's not always enough. The pain, you can run from it, but it always catches up. …I…I considered killing myself today, Ronan." I admit. "I was actually starting to walk towards Fisherman's Fate before I stopped and went back. All I could think about was how…easy it would be. And then I would be with the people I've lost. But I didn't do it…because I know if I do…I'll just end up hurting more people."

"Dylan…" he whispers. I ignore him.

"If it weren't for the others, I would've probably tried killing myself months ago. If it weren't for Finnick holding me or Beril putting a blanket over me or Garret bouncing around my head keeping me on my toes… I wouldn't be _me_ anymore." I turn around, finally facing him, as tears stream down my cheeks. "I can't take this anymore! It's not just you. It's _everything_. I can't stand the nightmares! I can't stand hearing their screams or feeling their blood or having people hating me for what I did! I look in the mirror and see my ruined face and I know I deserve it! I murdered them, Ronan. I slaughtered kidsfor glory. I _tortured _a _child_ to boost my popularity! Don't you understand?"

"Dylan…" he whispers again, looking completely distraught. Now, damn it all, I've hurt him, too. I clench my fists.

"Everyone hates me and they're right to. All I do is hurt people. I wish I'd died in the arena." I say as my eyes close against the tears. "I wish I'd died there with Garret. I wish Pisces had just shoved his debt to the Locker and killed me by that brook. I can't take this—"

But I never get to finish my sentence because as I was speaking, Ronan had crossed the room, placing his hands on either side of my face. I open my eyes in time to see his sea-green eyes inches from mine. Then he's kissing me. My words trail off into a startled squeak and while his eyes briefly close, mine remain open in surprise. Before I can really make up my mind about anything, he draws back but doesn't let go of my face.

"_Don't,_" he says empathetically. "Don't talk that way, Dylan. Don't _ever_. Not everyone hates you and you _know_ that."

"Alright, fine. Finnick and Annie don't hate me," I say more snappishly than I probably should've, given the current circumstances. "But they're in my boat."

"Yeah, but I'm not. And I don't hate you, either, Dylan," he says and his hands shift a bit, holding my face a little tighter. "And I don't care what you've done. Do you hear me? _I don't care_. It's all over and done with and you can't let it completely define you. You didn't spend your entire life murdering. It was just those few weeks. Such a short time compared to the rest of your life. I stole a bag of apples when I was seven. That doesn't mean I'm a thief now."

"Stealing a bag of apples is a lot different than murder."

"I've never killed anyone, Dylan."

"No!" I say, my voice rising. "And you don't know how it feels to have the guilt eat away at you. …Not yet you don't."

He winces at my vicious comment, but doesn't lash back. "Dylan," he says softly. "Don't ever, _ever_ let yourself think that death is the only escape. You're a strong, brave, and beautiful woman. Don't take the coward's path out."

"It's my life." I say. "If I want to end it, I can."

"_No._ You fought and killed in that arena so you could live. Now live! You think you have nothing left to live for? Well, you're wrong. You have me. You will always have me. I don't care what you did in the arena. Do you hear me, Dylan Syle? You _will always have me_."

He kisses me again, except this time, instead of standing still, I jerk out of his grip and wipe away the tears pooling in my eyes.

"You really think kissing me is going to suddenly change everything?" I demand. "That I'm going to see the light and think life's all shells and sunshine?"

Ronan winces again and I see his eyes zero in on something behind me. He walks around me to the wall and yanks out the knife I shoved in earlier. He looks down at it, turning the blade over in his hands, then tosses it to me. My hand flies up reflexively to catch it and, wiping my eyes with my free hand, I ask, "What's this for?"

"Go on." He says. "Kill yourself, then."

I jerk back in surprise.

"You want to throw your life away? Then go ahead. Do it. I won't stop you. Heck I won't even move an inch."

I look down at the knife in my hands, turning the blade and watching the light glint off it.

"Might I suggest slashing your wrists?" he suggests lightly, like we're discussing what to eat for lunch. "Won't take too long to pass out from blood loss… Or maybe one of your other arteries? The one on your bicep should work—"

"I know," I snap, silencing him. "I'm a knife-fighter, Ronan. Don't you think I know the best kill-spots with a blade?"

"Alright, then, so what's stopping you? Your life sucks. So go on. Do it. It's easy."

I grip the knife handle tightly. He's right. It _would_ be easy; easier than drowning, at least.

"Hurry up, will you?"

I grit my teeth and take a shaky breath. I don't understand him. Is he really telling me to do it? After trying to convince me not to?

"Oh, by the way, before you do that, Dylan, you should probably know one thing," he says in the same conversational tone.

"I love you."

I freeze. _…What? _Slowly, I lift my head so I can see him. His posture his bored, his face is apathetic, but his eyes betray him.

"Okay, that was it. Carry on," he says tonelessly, but, again, his eyes scream something else.

I look down at the knife again and grip the handle so tightly I'm surprised it doesn't break and raise it. But instead of bringing it down on my wrist, I spin around and hurl it at the wall where it sticks and my knees give out. I sink to the ground, sobbing like I haven't done since I ran from my mother's accusing eyes after Lana died.

And then he's there, folding his arms around me and pulling me close. I turn and bury my face in his chest as I cry, fisting my hands in his shirt. He runs his fingers through my hair and up and down my back. At one point, I think he starts to cry too. It's been a long time since I've felt this helpless and I hate it, but crying is the only thing I have strength left to do. I can't run and there's nothing to fight. And when I run out of tears my body continues to shake with dry sobs.

"I wasn't kidding, you know," he murmurs near my ear. "I love you."

I tighten my grip and turn my head so I can see his face. I was right, he's been crying.

"I tried not to, really hard," he says. "I knew it wasn't smart. I knew I could end up dead and I didn't want to hurt you. And I know the way things usually work with victors, but I…I couldn't help it. I don't care what you've done. I care about what you can do. You make me happy, Dylan. I smile more when I'm around you. I feel safer. You can make me laugh and you understand me. You're beautiful. I know what you looked like before you got these scars and I know what you look like now. Yeah, there's a definite difference, but you're still beautiful to me."

I try to swallow past a lump in my throat and stare at him, unsure how to respond.

He reaches his hand around runs one finger along the scar across my face. From where it starts above my right eyebrow, down between my eyes and across my nose, down my left cheek, and ending at my jaw, and I resist the urge to shudder at the tingling sensation his finger leaves on line.

"This doesn't matter to me," he says. "No more than anything you did in that area matters."

"But it _does _matter," I say quietly. "There are six kids who never left that arena because of me. If you want to get technical: twenty-three. But six of them were directly my fault. And one of them because I was stupid."

"And you've suffered through it all this time," he says. "Dylan, you have a long life ahead of you. Don't waste it. Don't let that one piece of your life consume you like this."

I swallow and sniff.

"I don't want you to die, Dylan." He says. "Don't you think you can stay alive for me?"

"You won't stay alive for me," I murmur.

"…I will," He says. "I promise."

I close my eyes and tuck my head under his chin. His hand returns to my back, rubbing up and down soothingly.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says. "Don't worry."

* * *

**Ahhhh! I ended this so many different ways before I got to this. Just nothin ever seemed right...**

**Le gasp!  
**


	31. Stories

**Get yo mind outta da gutter! :( They've _just_ started out. I don't care if teenagers hookup on the first date nowadays. Dylan doesn't do that. Besides, it's not even a date!  
**

** Yeah, I'm talking to someone specifically. You know who you are. .  
**

* * *

I drift slowly into consciousness. I have no reason to get up early today. Might as well try to doze a bit more. I shift a bit, snuggling my face into the pillow. It feels odd, it's not as squishy as it normally is. I freeze when my foot comes in contact with something. Something…that should not be there…something that feels awfully like… And that's when I realize that there is something around my midsection.

I jerk my head up, completely alert, trying to see who owns the flesh my foot prodded. I find myself staring at someone's shirt. I lift my eyes to find the face.

Oh.

It's Ronan.

I breathe out a sigh of relief and allow my body to relax.

Wait. Ronan? What's he doing here?

I frown, trying to remember how exactly we both ended up in my bed. At least we're both still dressed so I know nothing happened…but…

For a second, all I can draw up is a blank, then yesterday comes rushing back with the force of a tidal wave. I bite back a sigh. Yesterday was, hands down, one of the worst days of my life. Up until the end. When he said he loved me. Then…what? I don't remember moving after that. I must have fallen asleep curled up with him. I frown, trying harder to remember what happened after but I can't recall anything. I wonder why he stayed. Was he afraid to leave me alone? Or did he just…not want to? And what in the sea are we both doing in my bed?

Obviously, my movements just now disturbed him, because I can feel him stirring. I open my eyes to find him staring at me.

"You scared the salt out of me," I say with a small frown.

"Ah," he chuckles. "Sorry. But you kind of freaked me out, too, just now."

"You deserved it," I say.

He shrugs his right shoulder.

"So, mind telling me how exactly we got up here?" I arch my eyebrows and give him a severe look.

"I picked you up." He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Uhuh. But that doesn't explain you. Do you think the L-word automatically gives you permission to sleep here?"

He looks stung. "Uh, sorry? I didn't exactly want to leave you here in case that knife started looking friendly."

And I let my severe expression drop into a smile. "Thank you."

"Wait. You're not really mad?"

"It's called a joke. People make them when they want to amuse themselves and sometimes others as well."

Ronan rolled his eyes and lifted his head, supporting it on his left arm. "Thanks for the info."

"You're welcome, my pupil," I smile.

"So, I guess that makes two of us?"

"…Your lesson was more helpful," I say quietly, feeling the accursed tears suddenly ready to make an appearance.

"Hey, Dylan," he says, noting my expression with a worried frown. "No more crying, okay? It _will_ be okay."

I squeeze my eyes shut, opens them, then closes them again, trying to stop the tears before they start. I won't cry. I won't.

He puts his hand on my cheek. "You have to trust me."

"I do trust you," I say. "It's just…Ronan, only one person will survive. You _know_ that. Twenty-three will die. I don't…I _can't_ lose you, too. Do you understand me? _I can't lose you._"

"You won't—"

"You can't guarantee that. There will be others with just as much to fight for. Maybe more. You can't promise me you're coming home until you kill the last person."

"I can do it, Dylan. I can!"

"That's what I thought. That's what Pisces, and Jules, and Silk, and Leona, and Arno, and Rosalinda, and Seaborne, and Rilee and all the others in your position have thought. Look what happened to them." I shake my head. "And what about me? I'll go with you, Ronan. I'll be in the Capitol, watching you, getting you sponsors—everything I can do, I'll do it. But what if you die, hmm? What am I supposed to do then? Do you expect me to just…just hold it together and go home all happy? I'll be carrying your coffin off the fucking train to your parents—"

He kisses me again, cutting off my tirade. I pull back, frowning. "Don't think you can kiss me every time I start to get worked up and I'll just stop."

He sighs. "Then what do you want me to do, Dylan? Go back to pretending I feel nothing for you while you ignore and avoid me?"

"No," I say. "No… Ronan…please, don't get angry, but I really want you to—"

Someone knocks loudly on my door.

Ronan jumps, swearing softly. I press my hand over his mouth and prop myself up on my free arm. "Who's it?" I call.

"It's Fin. Open up!"

Ronan's eyes narrow a bit at me and, ooh, do I detect a bit of jealousy? I shake my head at him. "What do you want, Fin?"

"Open up, will you? I don't want to yell."

Ronan slides off the bed, grabbing his sandals, and darts into my bathroom. I hear the crinkle of the curtain as he hides in the shower. Then I slide out of bed, smoothing my hair down, and hurry over to the door as Finnick complains, "Come on, Dylan!"

I open the door with a frown, folding my arms. "What do you want? I was sleeping."

"Sorry," Finnick says, stepping forward to walk in. I hesitate. If I let him in he could find Ronan or some sign of him. Will he be able to tell someone else was in my bed? But, if I don't let him in, he'll be suspicious or worried. I've never barred him. So, reluctantly, I step aside so he can come in. I close the door then make a beeline for my bed since I know he'll probably want to sit down.

Good thing, too, because I can see two impressions in the sheets. Ugh, damn it! I yank the covers and sheets up quickly and straighten my pillows.

"Sorry I woke you up," he said. "But I just got a call from Anders. He wants you over at Annie's."

"Why?" I ask.

"Don't know," Finnick says. "He wouldn't say. Just told me I wasn't allowed to come."

"Oh."

"But I wanted to walk with you, at least." He says. "Hang out in Victor's Village 'til you guys are done then go see her myself."

"Alright."

"And," he makes a face. "I need to talk to you about something. It's about Ronan and Kelli—the girl he's going in with."

I turn away from Finnick so he doesn't see me glance at the bathroom. "Oh."

"Yeah, sorry. I volunteered to tell you because I know how you…" he trails off. "Yeah. Um. I'll wait out here for you to get changed."

_Oh crabs_. I screw up my face and grit my teeth. _Damn, damn, damn!_

"Okay," I say, my voice surprisingly even. I head over to my closet to grab some clothes and head into the bathroom, turning on the light and closing the door behind me. The shower curtain doesn't stir. If I didn't know otherwise, I'd think I was alone in here. But I know I'm not.

"Don't you dare peek," I hiss.

He chuckles once, so quietly I barely missed it.

I quickly yank my shirt and pants off and slide on a midriff tank top and cargos. To his credit, Ronan never even so much as rustles the curtain. Still, my cheeks are absolutely burning. I splash cold water and brush my teeth, keeping one eye on the curtain. When I'm done, I poke my head into the shower. Ronan's standing with his arms folded. He arches one eyebrow at me.

"You look nice," he mouths.

"Just make sure you close the door on your way out," I whisper.

I head back out of the bathroom, my pajamas clamped in between my teeth, trying to force my hair to cooperate.

"That's attractive," Finnick says. I shoot him a glare and spit the pajamas out of my mouth on to the bed.

"Here, let me help," Finnick offers, rising. And, again, conscious of Ronan listening to every word, I shake my head.

"No, I got it," I snap.

Finnick's hands drop to his sides and he looks a bit hurt. I mentally slap myself. _Don't be mean to Finnick._

"Okay," I strap the knife holster to my belt and fasten Sol's bracelet to my wrist. "Let's go, then."

To my credit, I don't glance back once.

On the walk to Victor's Village, Finnick delivers the bad news. As a part of a new, intensive training program, they want the youngest able victors, meaning Fin and me, to spend a week out in the Landscape with this year's tributes, Tessa and Jude, and next year's tributes, Ronan and Kelli, as a sort of mock Hunger Games. We'll all be wearing Shield Skins, of course, but the two of them will be given minimal supplies. Other things will be scattered around the Landscape for them to find as gifts from sponsors, though the most valuable of them will be difficult to access. But they'll have to do everything else themselves. It's a good idea. If only we'd built the Landscape sooner!

"And we're to try and win," he says seriously. "No cutting slack. Which means, if you see Ronan, you know what you have to do."

"Yeah," I say quietly. It would be a good wakeup call for all of them. It'd show that this isn't going to be as easy as they thought. "How does elimination go?"

"Probably same as the Trials," he says. "They didn't tell me that part yet. So, you're in?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No, not really. Savan expects you to stop by later today to discuss it with him."

I sigh. "Very well, then. Ladies and Gentlemen…"

"Let the Seventy-and-a-half-th Hunger Games Begin."

"Oh you're hilarious."

"You love it."

I wince. I can see why Ronan assumed I had a thing for Fin. Finnick's practically my best friend. He and I are so close now, so easygoing and confident around each other. Take right now, for example. Finnick's got his arm slung over my shoulder in a sort of hug for comfort in case I'd been upset by the news. But to an outsider, someone who didn't understand the bond between victors or the bond between the two of us, it would appear as if we were a young couple in love. But, isn't that what we'd wanted, to keep attention off Annie? I just...I guess I hoped Ronan would know better. However, if we could fool Ronan, we are probably doing a pretty good job.

Finnick doesn't enter the ring of houses with me, instead he heads down the road towards the market area while I head for Annie's house.

The day is warm and the sun is not very high in the sky yet. Spring is definitely here. Of course, in District 4, we don't really have a cold season. Our history lessons say that, long ago, this region had four distinct seasons. We even had snow! But during the old wars and disasters, climates changed. Now we just cycle through hot and a bit chilly. I hope whatever Anders has in mind, it can be done outside.

I enter the house without announcing myself. Though my mother and I are on speaking terms again, neither of us have been really making efforts to instigate conversation unless it's really necessary. I wander through the halls, checking the rooms. Then I hear someone laugh from the kitchen. I frown, my feet automatically going for the sound. Something about that laugh is familiar, very familiar, but I can't place it. I stop in the doorway and the moment I'm noticed, the laughter stops and everything goes eerily quiet.

Annie's there, of course, and so is Anders. Plus several other people I haven't seen in nearly a year, but I'd recognize anywhere. Heather, Catia, Lily, Ryin, and Spence: my old friends, who were Annie's old friends as well, long ago, before the Trials. I understand why he'd want these five here. They have absolutely no connection to the Hunger Games. They are safety personified as far as Annie goes.

However, as far as I'm concerned, they're nothing but cowards and shark bait.

It's partially thanks to them I was able to volunteer that day. They got me into the arena. They cheered me on, rooted for me. They were there in the beginning when I got home, but they didn't treat me the same. They didn't look at me the same. And, eventually, they didn't even look at all. I guess there's a difference between knowing your friend can kill and seeing her do it.

They stare at me, my five former friends, with varying degrees of shock and horror. They don't look too much different. Ryin and Spence, blonde haired and green-eyed, and Spence has that single freckle on his chin; Heather, still frail and tiny with long blonde hair, striking green eyes; Mousy-haired Lily, who used to be closer to me than anyone because of our mutual experiences in the Trials; Catia, tall and with curly brown hair.

Ryin breaks the silence. "What's she doing here?" And this is the person that kissed me before I left for the Games.

"It's my house." I say quietly. "I can be here if I want." Then I look at Anders. "I thought it would be just us three. We _are _here about Annie, right?" I check.

"Yes," Anders says, noting the sudden chill in the room. "I was unaware that this would be a problem."

_Hmph. _Well, if I was going to have to do this, then I was going to at least have some fun. "No," I say all smiles and sunshine. "No problem for me."

I walk over to the table everyone's sitting around and plop into the empty seat between Annie and Heather, who's watching me the way a mouse watches a cat. My smile turns into a smirk. Anders holds out his hand and I sigh, unclipping the knife from my belt and hand it over. It's a requirement for any sessions I attend with Annie since Fin and I had a tendency to overreact at the beginning and I may have sort of…drawn a knife on the therapist…

Just as I'd predicted, when I pull it out into the open, all of them react, even if it's only subtle. Eyes widen, quick gasps are drawn in through noses, and bodies fidget uneasily. Annie doesn't react at all. Atta girl.

"So, what's with this little get together?" I ask. "I was sleeping, you know."

"It's ten," Spence says incredulously.

I arch one eyebrow at him. He remembers, then. Before, my internal clock didn't allow me to rise anytime after six or so. Not anymore, though. "So?"

"You never…" he trails off.

I shrug. "People change."

"Yeah," he says. "They do."

I clench my fists under the table, gritting my teeth as my nails dig into my palms. Annie leans her head onto my shoulder.

"Everyone's so angry," she says softly, kind of dazed. "People shouldn't be so angry all the time. Nothing good ever happens when people are angry." She tilts her head, her eyes flicking up to me. "People die."

"I know," I say quietly. "Fin says hi, by the way."

"Your boyfriend," Heather mutters.

Annie opens her mouth to say something and I elbow her.

"Well," I say. "The tension is so thick in here I could cut it with a knife." A few of them wince. "So, Doc, what's going on?"

Anders looks a bit worried. Maybe next time he'll ask me before he plans a little gathering like this. "Well, I've noticed Annie's had a hard time dwelling on happy memories lately. I think it would be beneficial to her—and maybe for you, Dylan—if you all could tell us about some experiences you remember."

"Hey," I glare at him. "I told you that if I wanted help, I'd come to you."

Anders sighs, rubbing his forehead. "I spoke to your mother and Finnick about this and he asked me to include you."

"…I'm going to kill him."

The corner of his lip twitched upwards in a smile. "I asked your mother of any mutual friends you two had that weren't involved in the Trials and she directed me to these five."

"Why," I growl, "would they do that?"

"Finnick was concerned—as were a few of the other victors, and, well, your mother. You've not been yourself these last few weeks. Is your friend still talking?"

Well, this is humiliating.

"No, he's quiet," I say through my teeth, though I'm grateful he didn't say Garret's name. "I'm doing better now, really." I insist and I can't stop the faint blush from creeping onto my cheeks. I still can't believe I spent the night with Ronan. "I don't need to—"

"Dylan," he says flatly.

I sigh. "Fine, _fine._" I give the five of them a dirty look. "Alright, you wenches, get on with. Comfort us with tales of old so we can break through the dark clouds looming over us and see the sunlight so that our days may be forever cheerful and harmonious." _You're about ten hours too late._

They look a bit uncomfortable now. They weren't expecting to see me, I already gathered that. They'd been avoiding me like Luke had since about the same time he had, too.

"You were such a dork," Lily speaks for the first time since I arrived. "You were, Dylan. Skinnier than a string of seaweed and as gangly as a boy, so many freckles on you that you looked dirty, your teeth would've been bucked if they were any bigger."

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for the point.

"You…you were so sensitive. You'd get offended over the littlest jab at how you looked. One kid, he said you had rabbit teeth—you didn't, of course—but you didn't care. You roared and bristled like an angry kitten and tackled that kid. Completely rammed him. You two rolled around in the mud, you were hollerin' 'I'll give you rabbit teeth!' because, I guess you thought his teeth would swell up like an eye if you punched 'em. You ended up with a bloody nose and you were covered in head to toe with mud but you were so _proud._"

Lily laughed, her eyes misty with memories. A few of the others chuckled. "You had blood dripping down your face and you were grinning from ear to ear. Annie was freaking out because you were really bleeding and she ran to get your mom—and the way Annie was screaming, your mother thought you were dying. But you just kept sayin': 'I got him. I got him. He ain't never gonna call me names again!'"

I smile a bit. I sort of remember what she's talking about. A boy, brown hair I think, bigger than me. I don't remember his name, I don't even know if I saw him after that. But I do remember getting teased. A lot.

"I don't think anyone would dare make fun of you now," Catia says with a small smile.

Annie nods against my shoulder. "They can't. She's so pretty now."

I smile and pat Annie's arm. She doesn't care about my scars. I don't know if she even sees them half the time. The same can't be said for the others, though. I could almost see their eyes zero in on my face. They would've seen them on television from Annie's Tour, but they know I didn't have them when I came home from my Tour. I meet their gazes levelly.

Heather twiddles her thumbs nervously. "I remember this one time, when you were little, Finnick chased you and Lily around with a handful of icky fish guts. You two eventually got sick of it, pinned him down, and shoved the guts down his clothes. Annie felt so sorry for him that she actually tattled on them."

Ryin goes next. "Annie used to love music. She would always be humming or singing whenever she'd do anything. Walking, drawing, or just laying there… She'd hum."

"Cut it out," Annie says suddenly straightening up. I've learned to recognize her clear moments now. Her eyes are completely focused, her face is clear, and the way she holds herself is confidant and proud, yet still relaxed somehow. Sometimes her voice stays the same, but other times I can just _hear _clarity in it, sureness, and strength. Part of me is sad when she's like this. I know this is how she used to be—that this is normal—but now it's not normal. It's the anomaly, the way her unclear times used to be. Now they are the norm. But part of me is also happy, because I know it means that she's still in there somewhere, the girl she used to be before the Games screwed with her, and that she's not completely beaten.

Annie frowns at Ryin. "I'm not dead and neither is Dylan. We're still the same people we were before, just a bit different now. The soul's the same. There's none of this 'used to' stuff. I love music. I'm always humming or singing. I _do _these things. Not 'did'. Do."

I grin at the same time my stomach clenches. I want to hold onto her, keep _her_ here. I don't want her to sink back under the black cloud.

The others are completely floored. I do not think Spence's jaw can go any lower and if Catia's eyes go any wider, they'll pop out of their sockets.

Annie looks at Anders. "I don't like this. They're acting like we're dead or dumb. And Lil and Heather told stories about Dylan fighting someone. As far as happy memories go, those suck."

Anders sighs. "I really didn't expect such hostility among this group of friends."

"Former friends," Heather corrects softly. "We don't…we don't hang out any more. Catia's busy raising her siblings. Lily's married." I blink. Really? That's news to me. I guess I didn't warrant an invitation. "Spence is apprenticing as a blacksmith and Ryin's always working. I'm training to become an apothecary. And Dylan's…well…"

"Dylan's a psycho victor?" I suggest.

"Yeah."

"…You weren't supposed to agree with me."

She shrugs and no one jumps to contradict her. I clench my fists, wanting nothing more than to reach over and strangle her, or knock her chair over, or just punch her out. Good thing Anders took my knife. But, if I do any of those things, all it'll do is confirm the bad stuff they think about me.

Annie glares at them, her teeth slightly bared, an intimidation technique we learned in the Trials. "So I'm the nutcase and she's the psycho killer," she asks harshly. "Nice. Real nice, you all are."

"Annie—" Anders begins but she cuts him off.

"If I want any warm and fuzzy memories, I think I'll just ask Fin or Dylan. You know—my _friends_. Because real friends care. Dylan and Fin have been there for me since I woke up in the Captiol. These people, they didn't even bother to drop in when I came home. Not even to say, Hi, were kids together, I'm glad you're alive!' …Hmph. C'mon, Dylan," she grabs my hand. "Let's go kill some puppies or some other glorious victor stuff."

"But I don't—whaaaow! Ugh, knife!" I say as she hauls me from my chair. Anders sighs but tosses me my sheathed blade. I catch and, yanking my had away from Annie, hook it to my belt, then she latches onto my arm and pulls me out of the room.

"You all better be gone when I get back!" she hollers.

The moment we're outside, she starts giggling like a maniac. "Did you see their faces? Woohoo! That was so splashy!"

"Are you alright, Annie?" I ask, worried now.

She nods. "I am now that I'm out of there."

"Splashy? Really? What are you, ten?"

Annie lifted her chin indignantly. "Oh stop it. Come on, let's go."

She doesn't let go of my arm, half dragging me away from the house. I can't tell if she's clear or not. I manage to pry her hand off my arm and slip it into my hand. The further we get from the house, the more relaxed she becomes. Her shoulders droop and I can tell she's faded out again.

"Why'd he do that, Dylan?" she murmurs. "Why'd he make them come?"

"I think he was just trying to help," I reply. "He didn't know they weren't our friends anymore."

"Why didn't he ask us who our friends were though?"

"Because he wanted our childhood friends, Annie, the ones who wouldn't give us bad memories like he thinks our classmates from the Trials would."

"He should've asked."

"I know."

"Fin's in the Village?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"Hey, Annie, would you like to hear a good story?"

Annie blinks up at me. "Okay."

"When we were little, you used to say you would become a famous artist. You practiced drawing in the sand, in the dirt, with chalk on the sidewalk. You said your art would be so 'fin-tastic' that one day, they would invite you to live in the Capitol so you could fill the city with pretty art."

"Really?" Annie raises her eyebrows.

"And you weren't even that good." I laugh. "I'd say 'Nice cat' and you'd say 'It's a dolphin.'"

Annie laughed.

"Yeah, it was awful. Lily—she could draw the most beautiful things. She tried to help you but you were so damn stubborn that you just couldn't take her advice. Eventually you gave up drawing and started singing. Spence was right about that. Once you learned you could sing, you never stopped. Even when we were training, you'd sing or hum as often as you could."

"That's a good story," Annie says. "See? We didn't need them. All he had to do was ask you. You've got a lot of good memories."

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"I wish I did," she says. "But I really…I can't remember a lot of good things. And I hate it."

"Annie, how about I ask Anders to round up our friends from the Trials instead? We still get along, don't we? I'll bet they have a lot of good memories they can give you."

She nods. "Okay."

I leave her with Finnick and tell him what happened then head back to the Training Center to find Ronan. We have stuff to talk about. And the mere thought of that makes butterflies flutter in my stomach more fiercely than they did as I entered the arena two years ago. The arena was nothing but fighting and survival. But this…romance…stuff is unfamiliar territory. I've been trained to use my wiles in my favor, but somehow, I don't think that would help here.

I find Ronan in one of the gyms practicing hand-to-hand combat with one of the trainers. I stand against the wall near the door, not drawing attention to myself, and just watch him. His opponent is a bit shorter than him but so stocky that Ronan looks like a gangly little kid. Ronan is fast and agile, ducking and dodging more than actually hitting. His opponent uses his strength to his advantage. He doesn't land many hits, but when he does, they are devastating. Ronan will have bruises.

I can tell the moment he realizes I'm there. He loses focus for an instant, just an instant, looking at me, then the next instant he's on the ground, pinned beneath his opponent.

"Yield!" the trainer bellows.

Ronan nods.

The trainer stands up, holding out a hand which Ronan accepts. "You lost focus, boy," the trainer growls. "You could've very well been dead by now if that was real."

"I know," Ronan says, glancing at me.

The trainer notices me, then, and frowns disapprovingly. Then he chuckles, clapping Ronan on the shoulder. "A beautiful woman is as dangerous as a double-edged sword. You remember that."

"Thanks," I say dryly, loud enough that he can hear.

The trainer laughs again then sobers. "Do you need him?"

Ronan wags his eyebrows at me and I struggle to keep a professional mask on. "Actually, yes, I do. Unless you're in the middle of something important."

"No, we're done," The trainer says. "I'm tryin' to train the kid, not kill him. Ice that eye of yours, Flit, and come back tomorrow with a bit of focus. You got to be ready for the test next week."

"Test?" Ronan blinks, his eyes widening. He looks at me. "What test?"

I shake my head, having already been instructed to not tell him by Finnick, whose orders came straight from Savan, the head of the Trials. Can't disobey Savan if I want to continue living here and now I really, _really_ do.

"Come on, Ronan," I say. "We'll get you some ice on that."

I beckon to him with my hand and he follows me out of the gym. He keeps a respectable distance from me as we walk, though I get the feeling that it's killing him.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I probably smell bad."

"I've smelt worse," I assure him. "Don't worry."

"So, what's up?" he asks. "Is it official business or…?"

"If by official you mean trials related, then no. But we do need to talk. If Fin hadn't interrupted us, we would've discussed this earlier."

"How'd that go, by the way?"

"It went."

"Uh oh. That doesn't sound good. Want to talk about it?"

"Nope," I say, popping the 'p.'

"Do I need to kill him?"

I give him a look. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can." He says. "But, come on, it's my right as a boyfriend to kick someone's ass if they piss you off."

"Shh!" I literally slap my hand against his mouth, looking up and down the hall quickly to make sure no one was allowed to hear. I slowly let my hand drop away and give him a stern look. "Don't say that!"

He frowns at me. "You don't want me to be your boyfriend?"

"Oh for Poseidon's sake…" I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. "I am not even going to start that. Go get showered then meet me in my room."

"Your room, huh?"

I step on his foot. "Yes, my room. You spent a whole night in there already; don't make a big deal out of it. And it's easier for you to get in there than for me to sneak into the boy's dorms. I need to go speak to Savan."

"Why?"

"About your test."

"What friggin' test?"

"Can't tell."

"Fine," he says. "I'll see you in a bit, then."

I make my way to the center of the complex where Savan's office and residence is located. The head of the program lives at its heart. It seems fitting. Savan is a pretty cool guy, good-natured, charismatic, and stern when he needs to be. He's about thirty but he dresses like someone half his age and he's got shaggy hair which is usually unkempt. Not the kind of guy you'd expect to be running the official tribute trials of District 4. But Savan knows what he's doing and when he wants attention and respect, damn if he doesn't demand it.

His office door is wide open, a sign that he's not busy, and I poke my head in. "Savan?"

Savan looks up from the papers on his desk. "Ah! Just the lady I wanted to see. Come on in, Dylan, and take a seat. Close the door."

I step in, shutting the door behind me, and take a seat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. "So, I've been reaped?"

He makes a face. "Well, if you want to look at it that way…"

"I do," I say coolly. "Because no one even bothered to ask me beforehand."

"Sorry. But you are a victor and a trainer, and as such, you are required to do what is necessary to prepare these two for what they will face. You, Syle, didn't go through the last leg of training. You got lucky—luck isn't always enough. This is a good experience for them. It won't feel like the arena—not quite—but it will improve their survival skills and their vigilance."

I lean back, folding my arms across my chest. "So, how does elimination work?"

"Shield Skins will be worn, obviously. Any direct hit to a red-zone will equal an automatic loss. And we will provide you each with watches that will beep to signify an out."

"How long?"

"Seven days total, that should be plenty of time." Savan shakes his head. "You two are hunters. He set snares and you tracked during your Games. We're giving you a week to encourage you to…take your time. We want them to spend at least one night out there if at all possible. But, for seas sake, if they're overly obvious, just take them out and be done with it."

"Is it possible for either Finnick or I to be…victor?"

"Oh yes, it is entirely possible," Savan says. "We're almost expecting it to happen, but we all know damn well that anything can go down in the arena. So it may be that one of them wins."

"Supplies?"

"They will be given a bare minimum of supplies to get them started and a single knife. You and Fin will be given more as well as your top two weapons of choice. Other weapons and supplies will be scattered across the landscape to be found."

"And…how will they be removed from the 'arena?'" I made the quotes with my fingers. "After defeat, I mean."

"They'll walk out. Simple. You're not killing them. …Not that you want to, right?"

"Of course not," I blurt, offended.

"Relax." He says.

I take a deep breath and let it out. "When will it begin?"

"Next week. So, are you going to do this willingly or do we have to drop you in there? I'm not opposed to that second option, Syle."

I sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I'll do it. I don't like it, though."

"You don't have to."

"I'm not doing this every year."

"Yes you will be," he says seriously. "Consider this a part of your teaching duties until we have at least another two victors."

I glare at him, curling my hands into fists. But then I sigh, lowering my eyes. I live here, I am a trainer. He is my boss. "Fine, I'll do it. But as soon as I get replacements—"

"I understand." Savan say. "Thank you, Dylan. Just think of how beneficial this may be to our tributes. You could save one of their lives."

I clench my hands again, a plan suddenly blossoming in my mind. _Save one of their lives, huh?_ Well, he didn't specify _how_ this could save one of their lives. And, if I do this right, I could save more than one.

"I'm in," I say, unable to hide the smirk on my face, "One-hundred percent."

* * *

**Dylan, Dylan, Dylan...what are you up to?  
****  
Y'know, I decided I was going to try and limit this story to 35 chapters. Now I say f*** it. I'll finish this story when I finish it dammit!  
**


	32. Failure

**So, today I graduated from High School. CLASS OF 2012 W00TW00T!**

**Enjoy everyone :)  
**

* * *

"I want Ronan."

"Oh, you _want _him, do you?"

"Just like you want me?"

"Ha ha. Fine, then the others are mine. Or do you _want _all of them, too? Because, hey, you know, whatever floats your boat…"

"Screw you, Finnick."

"Oh hoh hoh. So do I float your—ooooowww! Dammit, Dylan!"

"Be thankful I didn't kick about a foot higher."

"Love you too, Syle."

"Gee, thanks Odair."

"Will you two stop flirting?" Savan growls, swiveling around in his seat to face us.

I glare at him. The vehicle bumps along the uneven road. A particularly big bump makes my butt momentarily leave the floor and I land with a small _oomph_as my bag falls off my lap. They call this thing a van. It's got two seats in the front and the rest of it is hollow and empty. They mostly use it to transport supplies. I feel like a bag back here being bounced and chucked around as we head for the Landscape.

"Watch the road!" Marrian screeches from the front seat.

Savan's head snaps back around and he tries to steer us around whatever alarmed my former mentor, but I still feel a jolt that sends me into the air again. This time I land on my side. There's a bang and a loud swear from Finnick.

"Pay attention you asshat!" he snarls, holding the back of his head.

I sit up, cursing and rub my arm. "Perfect. That's my throwing arm."

"Focus you two." He glares at us through the mirror above his head.

"Do you have seaweed for brains?" I shout. "Watch the road!"

"Syle." he says warningly.

"I'm fixin' to come up there and drive myself."

"You can't," Savan says with a small smirk. "You don't know how."

That's true. Maybe I should have Sol to teach me next year so I don't have to worry about dying on the way to the Landscape because the only idiot around here who can drive won't keep his eyes on the road. Can't be too hard, right?

"I'm a fast learner. Watch the road or you're gonna learn how fast."

"I'll help her," Finnick adds, still rubbing his head.

"Oh stop whining," Savan snaps, earning himself a whack on the arm from Marrian.

"Stop being a brat and watch where you're going."

He shoots her a look but his demeanor is that of a scolded child. After that he keeps his eyes on the road.

Finnick chuckles and mutters to me, "Whipped."

I laugh quietly and then go back to looking out the window in the front since there aren't any back here.

Ronan, Kelli, Tessa, and Jude have been in the Landscape since sunup. We're going to join them now that they've had time to get a head start. And unlike them, we're armed with food, supplies, and knowledge that they lack.

_"You will only have a week in there. Your goal is to be the last one standing. But it won't be just you four. There will be two other tributes in there with you."_

_"Who?"_

_"Ah, that is part of the mystery. You never know who your next enemy will be. Will it be someone you expect…or something else entirely?"_

Ronan will never know what hit him. He has only ever faced me in combat when he sought me out or in the gym. He's tracked me before, during the weeks I wasn't talking to him, but he's never been hunted by me. And the best part is that he doesn't even know I'm coming after him. If he did, I'm sure he'd act accordingly. Keep his eyes on the treetops, stay in the open areas where I can't hide as easily. But he _doesn't_know. And, as a future tribute, he has an arrogance about him that I'm familiar with. He thinks he can take on anyone. There is a reason Savan used the word 'tribute' to describe me and Fin instead of trainer or opponent. I actually am looking forward to this, much more than I thought I would.

I meet Finnick's gaze and grin.

"This is going to be fun."

Finnick chuckles once. "If you say so, Dil."

"Hey, what are you going to do if you find me before I find Ronan?" I ask quietly so the two in the front won't hear.

"I'll let you have your fun," he promises just as quietly. "And I'll be sure to not attack him if I find him. But the others are fair game."

_"How will we know if someone's out?"_

_"Those watches you'll have will beep loudly. It should wake you up. You have to shut it off manually with the button on the side. Hopefully you can do it quick—just in case someone is in the vicinity."_

"Thanks," I say jovially, but I stare at him meaningfully. I haven't told him what I plan to do, but he has to know I'm up to something. And based off the solemn nod I receive in return, I'm sure he does.

A few minutes later, the van slows to a stop and the bumping finally ceases. My limbs feel like jelly as I crawl to the door and slide out of the van. I have to hold on to the side for a minute or so to steady myself while Savan and Marrian unload our supplies. Finnick leans against the side, gazing at the grasslands before us.

"Why are we starting here?" Finnick asks with something like a whine in his voice.

The Landscape is a relatively new addition to the program. It's a stretch of wilderness exactly twenty-four miles wide and was practically useless for nearly a century. So about a decade ago, the trainers talked to the mayor about reforming it into a training ground. It's got a section of woods, a section of nothing but wild grass, a rocky area, and an area with nothing but sand. I used it in the past to train Ronan's group. We're using it now to simulate a mock Hunger Games. But there are six of us—Finnick and I, Tessa and Jude, and Ronan and Kelli—two victors, four trainees. They, Savan and the other victors in charge of this, expect Finnick or I to win this.

"Because we started the boys at separate points in the rocks." Savan says. "And the girls in in the sand."

"Couldn't make it easy, could you?" I say as strap the harnesses onto my body.

"Of course not. But I expect them to head for the trees. Still, keep an eye out tonight. They know you two didn't start with them. They might not anticipate your arrival until morning. Someone may light a fire."

I slide the quiver onto my back as well as the backpack, adjusting the knives in their sheathes to make sure they're set. I accept the bow from Marrian with a smile and she pats my temple once, the way she did when I was younger. Finnick is situated, too; a spear and net on his back and a trident in his hand and a smirk on his face. We decided to dress alike: black sleeveless shirts and khaki long shorts plus tan jackets over our shield skins that stretch to our necks, knees, and elbows. Kelli, Tessa, Jude and Ronan are wearing skintight black pants and green shirts. We probably should've worn that too, but the outfit reminded Finnick too much of his own tribute uniform and he didn't want to touch it. Not wanting to be the odd one out, he asked me if we could dress the same. So we went with something unlike either of our outfits.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Definitely."

"Head in opposite directions when you can," Savan says seriously. "Try to wrap this up quickly, if you can, but remember to give them a chance at each other if you can. …And, for their sakes as well as yours, don't forget where you are. This is not the arena. They do not have to die for you to live. If, for some reason, you feel overwhelmed, you can take yourself out and just leave. Stabbing yourselves in the heart will do it."

We nod.

Marrian whacks the side of the van and it makes a strange metallic sound that somehow reminds me of a gong. Taking the cue, we step over the small gully that marks the border of the Landscape and head into the tall grass. Finnick and I travel together for about an hour through the grass as it stretches up to our knees, then our thighs, then our waists, shoulders, then up over our heads. We help each other through the grass, pushing the long stalks aside instead of chopping them out of our way and leaving a clear trail and damage to the grounds. When we are in the thickest part of grass—the center of the area, no doubt—he turns and envelopes me in a surprisingly fierce hug.

I sigh, resting my head against his shoulder, taking comfort in his familiar hug, and pat his back. "See you in a few days, Dil," he says, returning the pat.

"Yeah. Good luck."

"You too."

He steps away then and grips his trident with purpose. "I'm not blind, Dylan. You've been uncharacteristically excited about this whole thing. I don't know what you're up to or what you're planning. But do what you have to do. I won't tell and I won't stop you. Just don't get anyone hurt," he says seriously.

"I won't," I say, backing away.

He nods, then smiles that smile only he can produce, flirtatious but not seductive at all and full of arrogant charm. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

I laugh then he disappears from my view as I vanish into the grass. It's only then that I realize I have no idea where in the Landscape I am, only that it's the grasslands. They didn't tell us whether or not we were on the north or the south end. I growl to myself, pulling up the map within my head. The twenty-mile area is in the shape of a rectangle, with each of the four sections taking up an equal portion of it. The grassland is in the middle, between the sand and the trees, and beyond the trees are the rocks, stretching east to west. This place was not designed to be an arena, only a training ground. If we all head for the trees, we won't last long. And I think our trainees are smart enough to know this, even if the trees seem to be the safest.

Kelli and Tessa started closest to the grass and Ronan and Jude are the other side of the forest. He might just stay there in the rocks and trees. If I can figure out which direction the forest is in, I can hopefully avoid Kelli altogether and give Finnick his target.

I glance at the sky. The sun is to my left, which means I'm facing north. I think back to the map again, the forest is east of the grassland. Smiling to myself and change direction so I'm heading towards the sun. That's another thing to my advantage. I know the layout of the arena. They don't. I hope Finnick was smart enough to use the sun.

It takes me a while to fight my way out of the grass alone. I have to weave and twist, backtrack and avoid, constantly checking the sun to make sure I'm going the right way. I'm briefly confused when the sun moves on to the western half of the sky, but soon I'm back on track. My legs, hands, and face are scratched and I'm seriously regretting not wearing pants by the time the grass is down to my knees again.

I see the trees—the glorious trees—ahead of me, and it takes all I have to not run for them whooping and hollering. This reminds me of my arena, though. The pale grass that existed outside of our swamp, a part of the arena Garret and I did not dare venture into.

I don't know what makes me do it, but I call out tentatively in my mind. _Garret?_

My old ally doesn't respond. He never does anymore. Part of me wishes he would, now more than ever, but the rest of me is glad he is silent. I don't need him anymore. I am not the little fool I was back then. I am stronger. I have Finnick, Ronan, Annie, and Leathan to help me now. And, hell, why not admit it? I have Beril too.

I pick my way out of the rest of the grass and disappear gratefully into the trees. Once I am a safe distance away from the grass, I sit down in the shadow of a thick tree and slide the bag off my shoulder. What parts of my legs weren't protected by clothes and boots are covered in scratches, as are my face and hands. I sigh, cursing Finnick for leading us so deep in the grass, and unzip my bag, rummaging through for the first aid kit and a bottle of water. I pour a bit onto my legs then pat them down with my jacket. I find a tube of antibacterial cream and carefully spread small amount across the web of scratches, bandaging the worst of them. I pack my bag up, sliding on the pair of fingerless gloves I requested be placed in there and load back up.

Standing, I turn in a slow circle, surveying the Landscape for the first time not as a training course, but a battle field. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to get into the right mindset. It doesn't feel like a Hunger Games and I need to start seeing it that way—or something akin to it—or I won't be able to do this correctly.

_This is the arena. Finnick, Ronan, Jude, Tessa, and Kelli are my enemies. I have to take them out. I have to win this. For Garret, for Sawyer, for Pisces._

It takes a while, slinking around through the trees, gripping the bow, and listening intently for the sounds of another human, before I feel loose enough. It's actually a bit refreshing. No one is watching me out here. No cameras. No sponsors. It's just me, the outdoors, and my prey, wherever they may be.

I head deep into the forest, aiming for the rocky, barren land where Ronan and Jude started out. They probably feel safe there, knowing the girls started on the other side, the trees and tall grass acting like a wall between them, and that only one other person is anywhere close. They might feel confident, unafraid. And if so, I will see signs of them. It's hard, trying to fit Ronan into the parameters of the typical trainee at his stage, balancing his nature with the overconfidence of someone who has beat out all his competitors.

By sundown, I've reached the edge of the forest and, under the cover of the trees, I survey the barren expanse. I select a sturdy tree with a fork visible about thirty yards up where I make my bed. From there, I watch the land, waiting for a fire or smoke. A while passes, then as it's becoming a bit chilly, I see a light in the distance. It does not grow beyond what's probably a small cooking fire, but it's enough to send a small stream of smoke trickles into the air.

"Found you," I murmur to myself.

I wonder which boy it is. I imagine he thinks he can put the fire to use and extinguish it long before anyone can reach him, or that he'll see them coming without a lot of cover.

I could do it. I could go _right now _and end it. But I don't. For one, he is far away. It's hard to judge the distance, but he could be over four miles away. By the time I pack up and get out there, he could have put out the fire and moved on. Or he could be thinking like I did during my arena, trying to lure someone out. I cock my head to one side, staring at the tiny light.

Would Ronan do that? I wouldn't be surprised if that is him and he is trying some of my methods. Or wouldn't he? He knows this is a test and lighting a fire at night, especially the first night, is just plain stupid, unless you're heavily armed. And whoever that is, unless he's found a weapon or two out there, which is possible, he's only armed with one knife.

So, with a sigh, I settle down in my blanket, resolving to resume the hunt tomorrow. There's no rush, I've got a week, and I like being away from prying eyes. I'm half expecting the anthem to begin and a face to light up the sky, but I am relieved that it doesn't happen. It's a friendly reminder that I'm still home. It takes a while for me to nod off, though. I hate to say it, but I've already grown used to sleeping next to him.

_You're doing this for him. Do it right and you may get to sleep next to him for the rest of your life._

Do it right, Dylan. Do it right.

_"You know what this big test is."_

_"Guilty as charged."_

_"C'mon, Dylan, please?" He pleads, running his hand along my side. I shake my head adamantly._

_"Nope, not telling."_

That was a few days ago. He's gotten in the habit of sneaking into my room at night. Nothing happens beyond the occasional kiss, but I do enjoy having him there. It's nice to fall asleep in his arms and wake up in them as well. Nixie will often curl up near our heads or draped across our legs. And it's just us, our secret, our special time.

_I smile as I hear the tell-tale click of the door as he opens it. I face the wall, my back to the door, and I listen as he closes the door carefully, carries his morning clothes and shoes into the bathroom in case we're disturbed, then tiptoes over to the bed. He gently pulls back the covers and slides in next to me. I sigh as I feel his arms come around me and snuggle back into him._

_"I thought you weren't coming," I murmur._

_"Hey, I won't see you for...what? A week? I need to enjoy it while I can." He says into my ear. I turn my head and kiss him. His arms tighten around me._

I blink, lifting my head to look at the fire in the distance. If I go there now, I might find him. I could fall asleep next to him. Say I snuck in the Landscape...or something...

I shake my head quickly, scattering the wishful thoughts. No, no, no. Do it right, Dylan.

_"I love you," he whispers, drawing away. "You know that, right?"_

_"Of course I do."_

_"Then why don't you ever say it back?"_

_"...I..."_

_He props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. He's quiet for a long minute, his eyes narrowed. "Do you not love me? Is that it?"_

_"No, I...I _do_...more than anything...I just...everyone I love...ends up hurt. Or dead. I can't lose you, Ronan, I can't. I _can't."

_He slides the hand on my waist up to my cheek. "You won't. You will always have me, remember? Shh, now, go to sleep. I can't sleep without knowing you're okay."_

_"Good luck," I say softly. It's the appropriate thing to say, even though I'm planning to make sure he does not win this week._

I stay in my tree for a while the next morning, watching the rocky lands for any sign of him. I don't have to worry about staying interesting for the sponsors. I just lay there, basking in the warm morning, watching and waiting. It is entirely possible that they have decided to remain out there or crossed into the woods out of my range.

I climb down mid-morning, stretch and splash water on my face and hair then load up and head back into the woods. I creep throughout the forest, watching for any sign of another life. It's entirely possible that, within the time I spent in the tree, he crossed through the woods and into the grass, hunting for the other three or the mysterious tributes. I loathe the idea of crossing the grass again, though it's possible to go around the thick part in the center, so I'm not going to unless I must. I'll stay on this side. If I find nothing today or tonight, I will venture into the rocks. Maybe light a fire. Lure him in then pounce.

The day is quiet, peaceful. My watch has not beeped yet. Either Finnick is not actively hunting Kelli and Tessa yet, or they are very, very good at hiding. And it still hasn't beeped even when night falls and the nocturnal animals that have dared make a home in this place come out to play. I prowl stealthily through the trees, eating from the jerky in my backpack. I won't hunt until tomorrow at least.

The first person I come across is not who I expected. Medium-height, long fishtailed brown hair, and intent blue eyes. Tessa Winslow, the girl who will be our tribute this year. She has managed to locate a trident between here and where she began and she's stalking confidently through the forest making more noise than a beached trawler. She's inviting us out to play.

_Well, sweetie, if that's how you want to do it. _

I load my bow and fire it at her shoulder. It rebounds off of the Skin and the force knocks her forward. I sling the bag off my back and throw the the bow over my shoulder, pulling out two throwing knives. The bow was just to get her attention. She needs to be taught a lesson and I'm going to do it my way. She catches herself, spinning around with the trident out. Her eyes widen when she sees me running towards her.

"Miss Syle?" she asks, straightening.

"Fight!" I shout.

Her eyes narrow and I wonder if she's noticed I'm wearing a Shield Skin. When I hurl a knife at her, she seems to realize that I am part of the test. She dodges the knife, bringing the trident up to block the next one. Knife in hand, I charge her head on. Tessa shifts, anticipating my attack, but at the last second, I leap in the opposite direction, spinning mid air, and throw it at her. It rebounds off her other shoulder, but it's not enough. The Skins stop weapons of penetrating, but they don't block the force. She still feels the collision pain.

"I said fight!" I snarl at her. She lunges, swinging the trident at me. She's not a range fighter, I can tell. She is swift, but not as agile and she's struggling to keep up with my twists and turns and parries. And I'm going easy on her. She does get a few blows in. I'll have an ugly bruise on my side tomorrow, but damned if she got anywhere near my heart.

Tessa thrusts the trident forward, trying to hit my stomach. I twist away, grabbing the trident and tug hard. Off balance, she stumbles forward, right into my fist. She goes down and I pounce, trapping her legs with mine, one hand on her shoulder and the other holding a knife at her throat. "Yield!"

She continues to struggle, so I inch it higher towards the unprotected part of her neck. When she feels the sting of the blade piercing her skin, she stops struggling. "I yield!" She gasps, craning her neck.

I nod then jab the knife into the neck of the Skin. A second of silence, then our watches begin to emit shrill beeps. I shift my sleeve up and turn off my alarm then get off of her. Tessa sits up, shutting off her watch, and lightly rubs her throat. She's bleeding, but it won't be fatal. Still, I head over to my bag and get a bandage for her. She sits still, looking rather meek as I dress her wound.

"That way's south." I point. "Head that way and you'll wind up at the road eventually. That read light on your watch means you've been disqualified and it's a tracker. They'll be on their way to pick you up."

"Yes, ma'am." She says. "You're one of those other tributes, aren't you? Who else is in here with you?"

"Finnick, because he and I are the closest to your age."

"Oh. ...Man, I wish they'd told us they were tossin' in victors."

I fix her with a stern glare. "Tessa, shouldn't _ever_announce your location like that, even if you're not against people with more training than you. Not everyone will aim for you shoulder. I could have killed you. Do you understand that? If this was the Games, I would have hit you in the head and you would've been dead before you even realized what hit you."

She nods.

"Don't ever make this mistake again. Even if you were trying to lure out an opponent."

"I was," she admits.

"I figured. Still, don't do it. I know you weren't expecting me, but you never know who's coming at you next and you never know who could be the death of you."

I send her on her way with that advice and a spare bandage just in case then head off again. One down, five to go.

My watch reads 8:32 when I see the light in the distance. My breathing hitches. Forest fire? No, too small. And Finnick wouldn't dare. So either that's Kelli, Jude…or I've found him. And if he's confident enough to build a fire in here now…

I grip the bow tightly and slowly head towards the fire, fully aware this could be a trap. I pull my hood up, covering as much of my face as possible, tucking my hair into it. I draw an arrow out of the quiver and knock it, stepping lightly and leaping nimbly behind trees every few moments. I'm about fifty yards off when I am able to confirm it's Ronan by that fire, his rusty hair lit up like a flare from the orange light I can see him sitting there, but there still may be traps. Or, possibly he and Jude or Kelli have found each other and teamed up. Anything is possible.

Just like it's fully possible he's unprepared and not expecting any danger. But I want to think he has more sense than that. Or, maybe, he just isn't taking this seriously.

I'm close enough to fire. I could use a knife to get him, but then he'd know it's me. I want to leave him hanging, if only for a moment. I step out again, inching closer, and stopping just outside the fire's glow. I raise the bow and take aim. For a moment, I let the arrow linger at his head, marveling at how simple it is. He doesn't even know I'm here. He just stares at the fire with his arms around his legs, a short sword a few feet away, and his pack open on the other side. My heart aches painfully with the knowledge that this scenario could happen in the area. Some other tribute may stand behind him, stare for a moment, then end him.

_Do it right, Dylan._

I want to shatter his confidence, his comfort, and his ambition—everything that makes him believe he can be a victor. I'd rather have Ronan alive as an ordinary citizen than dead as a tribute. This is my one shot. I _will _make it count.

So I shift the bow to the side and let the arrow fly, reloading a split second after it leaves the bow. The arrow sails past him, missing his head by an inch, and sticks into the fire. I see him jerk with surprise, staring at the arrow as the flames begin to eat it, for just a split second and it's enough. As he turns, brandishing the sword he's managed to find, my arrow hits him in the chest, right over his heart, before repelling off and clattering to the ground. He staggers back from the force of it and just barely manages to avoid falling in the fire. We stare at each other in shock for a moment then our watches beep simultaneously, loud, sharp beeps. I return the arrow I had loaded just in case to the quiver then press the button to shut it off. Ronan lets it continue to beep, staring at me in shock.

Then his face twists in anger. "You wench!"

I cock my head to one side and extend one hand towards him, palm up, curling my fingers invitingly.

He growls but doesn't charge, dropping his swords to the ground instead, and shuts off his watch, and when he does, the tracker light begins to blink.

Ronan glares venomously at me, still breathing heavily from the blow to his chest. "Kelli? Tessa? Who's under there?"

_This is it. _I hold the bow in one hand and take slow, deliberate steps towards the light. He squints, still fuming, and I can tell when the light reaches my face underneath the hood. His breathing stops, his shoulders going rigid, and his eyes widen, then he sucks in a sharp breath.

I stop a few feet from him and cock my head to the side again. "That's two for two. It's been a good day."

Ronan stares at me in shock. I just shake my head at him and sit down by the fire, pushing my hood back and pull my hair out, setting the bow on the ground. Trying to be totally nonchalant about it, I slide my backpack off my back and rummage through it for some food and water, but my hands are shaking. Ronan sits down next to me a minute later.

"Dylan?"

I see the red light blinking out of the corner of my eye.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Look at me," he says and I do, arching one eyebrow. He looks angry. "You cheated."

"I didn't cheat," I say. "I got you out fair and square. And Tessa."

"What are you even doing here?"

"Didn't you hear what Savan told you about who was competing?"

"Yeah, me, Kelli, Jude, Tessa, and two other..." he trails off as it dawns on him. "Oh. Tributes. You."

"And Finnick," I say. "Because we're the closest to your age. We are tributes, sort of..."

"Damn, should've known."

"...Did you expect to be tossed in here with untrained kids?" I grit my teeth and my hands curl into fists. "I have half a mind to slap you."

"What did I do?"

"What didn't you do?" I snarl. "You lit a fire, Ronan! You lit a _fire_. It's the worst possible thing you could do. You lit a beacon. Was that you on the first night.?Yeah, I saw the fire Ronan. I was up in a tree at the edge of the woods. I fell asleep watching it."

Ronan swallows. "That was Jude."

"Well then he's an idiot, but then, so are you. I could see it like a lighthouse beam. If I had gone after him, he wouldn't have even made it until tonight. You, Tessa, Jude...you're all complete gill-brained, rat-eating_—_" I squeeze my eyes shut for a minute, then I stat to shout. "Damn it, Ronan Flit, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, okay, shhh..."

"No!" I shout. "I will not shut up! No one's around to hear me. I am going to yell! _Why did you light a fire_?"

"I was cold!" he shouts back. "It was dark and I wanted to cook dinner!"

"Then why didn't you make a small one?" I spat. "Smoke is hard to see at night, but fire can be seen for miles! Every ten year old knows that!"

"Because I could barely see to start the fire. I didn't have time to scout for a prime location! Besides, I haven't seen sign of anyone since the fire last night."

"Don't lie and say you thought you were alone!"

"I was waiting…." he says through his teeth.

"For?"

"Someone to show up."

"Tessa was stomping through the forest like she had lead feet, trying to lure someone out. She's not in here anymore." I glare at him. "Good job."

"How was I supposed to know you'd be here? None of those three are long distance fighters. They'd have to get close enough to be seen before they could get me. I've got a few snares set, too. You just got lucky and avoided them."

"And you just thought the mysterious tributes would too?"

He says nothing.

I clench my teeth together, inhaling and exhaling slowly, trying to calm myself down. "I...killed you...Ronan." I say slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. "You are _dead_. I only fired the warning shot because I wanted you to _know_what had happened. I could've taken you out with that first arrow. You know I don't miss. Once again, you prove to be a thoughtless, selfish..." I trail off and suck air in through my teeth.

"Don't I mean anything to you?"

"Huh?" He looks confused.

"Don't you care about me at all?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Answer me."

"Yeah, I do. You know I do."

"You sure have a funny way of showing it." I mutter.

"What does that even have to do with anything?"

I whip around, grabbing the front of his shirt, and yank his head down so he's level with me. "Because you were reckless, overconfident, negligent, and if this was in the arena, you would be dead and I would be alone. I can't be alone anymore, Ronan. I lost Garret because we were overconfident and careless. He should've been looking around so they couldn't sneak up on him. He didn't, he got careless, and he left me alone. Don't you realize what his mistake did to me? I'm still not over it. Do you want me to end up like Annie? Because that's what will happen if you die. And don't tell me that you can win, that it'll be easy, because we both just saw otherwise. Dammit, Ronan, I love you. I can't lose you!"

His eyes widen and slowly, his lips stretch into a smile. I blink, trying to figure out what caused that reaction. Then I realize what I let slip out.

"You love me, huh?"

I sigh. "Yes, you gill-brained idiot, you know I do."

"It's just nice to hear you say it."

"No one's around to know," I say.

His grin becomes devious. "No, they're not."

"What—"

He leans forward and kisses me, holding my face in his hands. One of his hands slips down to my back and tries to pull me closer. I shake my head, breaking the kiss, "Oh no, don't even try it. I'm still mad at you."

He face drops into this adorable pout I've never seen before and it makes me giggle. "Aha. You laughed! Victory is mine! And now for my prize…"

"Oh no you don—"My words trail off as he kisses me again. But my giggling doesn't deter him and a moment later, I decide what the hell and scoot closer to him, slipping my arms around his neck. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, holding me closely to him.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

We jerk apart in surprise and I fall backward as our watches trill out shrill alerts.

"Another one?"

"That was fast." He shuts his watch off and I do the same.

"Hmm... so two left." I say, tilting my head. "I shouldn't be here much longer. I wonder if Finnick thought he'd given me enough time." I muse to myself.

"Time for you to do what?"

I arch one eyebrow at him.

"Did you...plan this?" He asks, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"Yep," I say. "Ever since Savan told me I had to do it. Finnick said he would give me chance to get you."

"And you wanted to take me out...why?"

I sit up and dust off my shoulders. "You're smart. Figure it out for yourself on the walk back."

"What do you mean?"

"You lost. Get out of here."

"But isn't it almost over now?"

"No," I say. "There's at least one left, plus Fin, probably. For dramatic effect, Finnick and I have to duke it out."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Besides, as unlikely as it seems, Kelli or Jude may have gotten him. I have to take them out. If someone took out Fin then they'll probably figure I'm here. And Fin definitely knows it's me. I have no intentions of going into an area he may have rigged. He can come here. But you have to leave. Head for the edge, they'll pick you up."

"Dylan," Ronan begins, but I don't let him.

"I'll see you in a few days," I say dismissively, turning towards the fire.

"Dylan..." He trails off with a sigh. Then he leans over and kisses me on the cheek, resting his forehead on my temple. "I'll...see you then."

"Quit." I say.

"Quit what?"

I turn my head so I can glare into his eyes. "Quit the program. Get out."

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

"No, I can't. It's too late."

I turn away, presenting my back to him, and hug my knees to my chest. I don't look at him as he leaves.

I doze off and wake up around three am to another round of shrill beeping. I shut it off hastily. The next day, Finnick finds me by the fire, feeding it green wood and leaves. A large column of smoke trickles into the air, a sure beacon.

"Not very bright," he says. I glance up at him then look back at the fire.

"It's Ronan's fire," I say quietly. "I just kept it going."

He sighs, sitting down next to me. "So. How'd it go?"

"It went."

"That bad?"

"Yeah."

"He's still going for it?"

"He says it's too late to do otherwise."

Finnick shakes his head. "You've got to let him make his own decisions. All you can do is be there for him. Train him. Make sure he knows what he's doing."

I pull the knife from the holster on my left shoulder and turn it over slowly in my hands. "I can't. I can't watch him do this. I love him, Fin."

"I know."

"Why?" I whisper, feeling tears well up in my eyes. "Why did I have to fall in love with him?"

"I've asked myself the very same question." Finnick says quietly. "One day...I looked at Annie...and I wanted to know...why her? Why did I fall for someone who was going to hurt me more than anyone else? Every time she cries, I hurt. Every time she fades out, I hurt. But I still love her more than life itself. It's the people we hold closest that can hurt us the most. Because we let them past our shields, we lower our defenses and let them in."

I lash out suddenly and stab my knife at his heart. The shield shin repels it, of course, but the force knocks Finnick backwards.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

I shut my watch off. He starts to laugh as he does the same, sitting up. "See? Just like that."

"Except there's no shield to protect our hearts." I say quietly and then I dissolve into tears. Finnick holds me. He always holds me. It must be like second nature to him now. Dylan starts to cry, hold her. Annie starts to cry, hold her.

"He doesn't deserve you." Finnick says.

The red light on his watch blinks.

* * *

**RONAN! -_- Ah, well, whatever.  
**

**So, yeah. Graduated :3 No special honors - except that I'm graduating an entire year early and have some college credits. Whut. I'm smart, but lazy. So no academic honors diploma. Too much work and it required a calculus class. Bleh. My talents are not in the math/science field... I'll be attending college this fall but I will continue to update, I promise. :)  
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**Review and tell people about this!  
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	33. Acceptance

**Nothing much to say here... you will love and hate me for this chapter.**

**Everyone having a good summer?  
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**Oh, by the way, if you didn't notice, TCOB now has an official cover. If you'd like to see the full sized version, lemme know :)  
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Every year after the Games have finished the tribute train arrives to deposit the victors and at least one, usually two, bodies. Even with our superior skills, District doesn't always win. It's a fact we all must accept. And even if we do win, there was always one tribute that doesn't survive to revel in the victory.

When they unload the bodies for the families of the tributes, it's usually long after the cameras have captured shots of the victors disembarking. The reporters are forbidden from recording the mourning. That's one mercy the Capitol provides: the families are able to grieve in peace. But there is nothing to keep the district residents away. We come, we view from a respectable distance, and if we knew the tribute or the family, we venture closer to offer condolences or a shoulder to weep on.

I saw it with Rilee. I was so little, but I remember them carrying her box off the train. I remember them opening her box, Mom trying to shield my eyes with her quivering body. I've seen them unloading other caskets, too. But watching from a distance, or even watching your own sister being unloaded, is nothing compared to be one of the…unloaders. I don't physically lift the caskets which contained Tessa Winslow and Jude Unar, but I walk beside them with the other mentors as the Peacekeepers gently carry them down to their families. Some of the family members are openly crying.

Reno, Arco, Mags, Twyla, Finnick, Beril, and I stand in a stiff line a few feet from the caskets and the families gather around them. As I look at my fellow mentors, I see what lies in my heart reflected across their faces. Failure. We failed them.

Stunning and imaginative Tessa, with beautiful brown hair and blue eyes that danced when she was telling a story that she could have you ensnared in within moments. Positive and witty Jude, with bronze hair and blue eyes that twinkled as he cracked a joke at someone else's expense. Both dead. Both gone forever. Both nothing more than a bunch of memories. Tessa, ironically enough, to the boy from 10 (something Ian gloated about until they had to physically restrain us both so I didn't rip his head off) and Jude to the girl from 7.

We failed. It was our job to keep them alive. We may not have wielded the weapons that claimed their lives, but we still failed. And now District 7 has a new victor: a fierce little thing named Johanna Mason. I thought that sixteen year old was weak. She certainly acted like it. Her training score said she was. But when she buried in axe in Jude's chest, we knew differently. And even though she is responsible for Jude's death, I can't help but admire her. Sneaky little wench.

Tessa's mother is crying as if her heart is actually broken in two and it makes my stomach clench. I failed Tessa. I was in the control room when she died. Does her little brother know that? Why is he looking at me that way? I try to meet his gaze evenly and the moment he looks away I turn my head to hide the pain.

I really, really want to leave. But we have to stand here. It's custom. It's a punishment I escaped last time since I was one of the ones who whisked Annie away. But now I'm here, watching and listening to their grief. It reminds the victors that we may have escaped their clutches, but we are still punishable. Then it occurs to me that we're not alone. I look up at the crowd of people who hover not far off. Some of them are beginning to slowly approach. Friends, relatives outside of the immediate families, friends and kin of past tributes who know what these are going through.

Ronan is so easy to spot with that rust-tinged hair of his. He's standing at the front of the crowd in between two people I don't recognize. Watching me, waiting, his expression perfectly neutral. I give him a small smile then return my gaze to the caskets.

After ten minutes, the Head Peacekeeper, Lon, nods his head to us and my shoulders sag. Finnick gives me a quick hug, patting my back. "Go find Annie," I whisper to him. "She must be missing you."

"_He_must've missed you if he showed up like that." Finnick mutters. "Idiot." Then he walks away from the caskets and doesn't look back. As I'm walking away I can't help but glance at Tessa and Jude one last time, then I turn away and don't look back.

Finnick's right. Ronan is being stupid. He knows what might happen. I do not want the Capitol to be able to use any one against me for any reason. Ever. So, naturally, my only friends are victors and sailors that no one pays attention to, like Leathan, who I only socialize with when I'm on the boat, out to sea and away from Capitol eyes. Basically, people the Capitol can't hurt (anymore than they already do, anyway) or don't really know about.

Except Ronan. Because he's so, so vulnerable, even if he pretends he's not.

He turns his head, catches my eye, and gives me the barest of smiles. I watch him turn down an alley. I get ready to follow him, glancing around to make sure no one's really watching me, then a hand touches my arm. I jerk around, hands clenched into fists, and find myself looking into a pair of green eyes.

_I know you._That's the first thing I realize. I scan her face, trying to place the green eyes, the brown hair, and the nearly invisible splash of freckles… "Catia." I say.

An old friend of mine, Catia is Brok Hanson's daughter. She got me my job at his company because she had to quit to take care of her younger siblings after their mother passed away. She was originally reaped for the 69th Hunger Games, but I took her place instead of Nita. We're not exactly best buddies anymore. I haven't seen her since that attempted intervention Anders staged a few months ago. She wasn't openly hostile to me, but she wasn't exactly nice, either.

Catia smiles, but it doesn't meet her eyes. "Are you alright?"

"…I'm fine." I say stiffly.

She tilts her head. "You really…don't look it. I saw you standing up there."

I swallow. "Yeah. It's part of the job."

"A job you wish you'd never taken?" I really don't think she was asking a question there.

"Yeah, well, it's got its ups and downs," I say, glancing towards the alley. "Is that all you wanted to ask me?"

"No, actually, I…I would like a favor." Catia says. "I know, technically, I still owe you for going into to the arena for me and because I was so rude to you last time I saw you..."

"Catia. I really don't care about squaring old debts at this point," I tell her. "What do you want?"

"It's…it's my little brother, Zachariah. He's…he's going to start the trials next week. Kick him out. Please."

I blink twice then frown. "It's…I don't know if it's that simple."

Catia folds her arms.

"I'd…I'd have to talk to one of the older trainers. Maybe Marrian. Is there any reason besides you not wanting him in the trials?"

She shrugs. "No, not really…"

I bite the inside of my lip, then smile. "I'll see what I can do. If he does horrible his first few days it will be much easier."

Catia smiles. "Oh thank you. D-do you mind if I walk with you? Are you heading to the Victor's Village?"

"Um…" I glance at the alley way again. I don't see Ronan, but I know he's somewhere nearby, waiting, probably watching me. "I…uh…well…I'd like to but…"

Catia gets it. Or, at least she understands that I don't want to go walking with her.

"Is it top secret victor stuff?" she asks with a hint of sarcasm.

I nod. "Yeah. Top secret."

Catia nods and she walks away from me so quickly you'd think I'm contagious. I wince inwardly, watching her go, then sigh, rubbing my forehead like I'm tired, look around like I'm making up my mind, then sigh again and head down the alleyway where Ronan disappeared.

The moment I'm far enough down the alley that the sunlight doesn't leak through, Ronan emerges from behind a trash bin. I smile at him and he sweeps me into his arms and I rest my cheek against his shoulder. And everything is alright again. Tessa and Jude are just memories. Then Ronan ducks his head to kiss me and those memories don't even matter.

I pull my head back a few seconds (or minutes?) later and sigh. "I missed you," I whisper.

"I missed you, too," he murmurs. "I wish you wouldn't have gone."

I tilt my head to the side. "Yeah, you say it now. You'll change your mind when you see what I brought you."

Ronan considers this. "Did you bring me another one of those strawberry cakes?"

"Maaaybeeee," I say. "I guess you'll have to come and find out. Say…around…ten?"

"Ok." Ronan smiles and then kisses me again, but I don't let it last long before I pull away, sliding my hands up to his chest.

"You should go," I say, reluctantly giving him a small push. "You're gill-brained for coming here. Finnick called you an idiot."

Finnick is one of the few who knows about Ronan and me. In fact, the only ones who know are some of the ones who know Annie and Finnick are a couple, including Dr Anders, who we left in the Capitol yesterday. I think he was a bit sad to be leaving us. District 4 isn't the Capitol, but it's a good place to live. I didn't exactly want to tell him, but Finnick made me. Thought talking to Anders would help. I will never ever admit it aloud, but it kind of did.

"We're both idiots," Ronan says, smiling gently, but he backs away. "See you later."

I smile. "Yeah, see you."

I wait until he leaves the alley the way I came in and then I head the other way. I circle back around to the train station to collect my stuff then I take one of the available cars back to Victors Village.

Nixie's in my room when I arrive, her mouth open as if surprised and her paw still held aloft where she'd been grooming it. She lets out a loud meow and jumps down off the bed, sprinting over to me with her tail high, and rears up, placing her front paws on my leg. I carefully step around her and set my bags on the floor, sitting down on my bed, and pat the spot next to me.

"Come on Nixie, up you get girl!"

Mewling happily, Nixie springs onto the bed, and bumps her head into my head, purring like there's no tomorrow. I rub her from the top of her skull to the base of her tail repeatedly pausing when she turns her head to lick my arm with her scratchy tongue. "Wow, you really missed me, huh?"

She purrs louder in response.

I unpack my stuff including the stuff I purchased for Nixie. Yes, I abused my credit card privileges and bought stuff for my cat, including a collar. Now, I've known people to give their dogs some sort of collar, but I've never seen a cat with a collar. Still, it seemed like a good idea. I didn't want anyone taking a liking to Nixie and carrying her off somewhere. My kitty. So I chose the collar that was the least offensive and least likely to bug her. It was slim and white with her name embroidered into it with light blue thread on the front my name on the back in smaller letters.

Nixie fusses a bit when I put it on her then spends the next several minutes making a big deal about it, before she finally realizes I'm not taking off her and slumps, defeated, onto the bed and resumes watching me sort things out. I sort stuff by who it's for, store it, then when I'm done I shove the bags in my closet and contemplate what to do for food. The pressing a button on a wall thing doesn't work here, sadly, and since it's a free day (in honor of the ending of the Games) the cafeteria didn't make a lot of food, so I head into town for food, stopping only briefly to mention Catia's request to Mags.

After getting food, I return to the compound take a shower, scrubbing off all the substances and lingering scents of the train and Capitol, immersing myself in the smells of home. When I emerge, Nixie has gone off somewhere, probably to get her dinner, and I change into a tank top and the threadbare pants I like to sleep in. I glance at the clock. Ronan shouldn't show up for another hour.

Of course, I should've known he'd show up early, him being such a big risk-taker today. I open the door a half hour before I should've and let him in quickly, locking it behind him. "You gill-brain," I say, when he emerges from the bathroom after having hid his clothes for tomorrow in there. "You want to get caught, don't you?"

Ronan shrugs, grinning from ear to ear. "Hey, no one saw me."

I roll my eyes. "Well, sit down; I'll get the stuff for you. Close your eyes. …I mean it. No peaking!" Ronan sighs but does as he's told. I keep an eye on him to make sure he's not peeking and back up to the dresser. "No peaking," I remind him as I gather up the four boxes then sit down on the bed next to him.

"Alright, open your eyes."

He does and looks at the boxes in between us expectantly.

"Pick one."

Ronan considers them for a moment, then picks up the second largest and opens it with a smile on his face. Unlike last time, he doesn't cautiously prod it with one finger and instead he tears a chunk off of the Strawberry Delight, his favorite thing from the Capitol. He gives me the biggest smile he can with his mouth full of food and I giggle, pointing to the spot of icing on the tip of his nose, right over the freckle. He crosses his eyes to see it better then chuckles, swallowing the mouthful of cake and icing, then wipes his nose off.

He picks the smallest box next and I snatch it back quickly. "This one last."

He frowns a bit but doesn't protest, selecting the next largest which is a small pack of the pencils the people in the Capitol use to stencil themselves with and he laughs. "I can't believe you actually got these."

"You said you wanted some," I say.

"I was kidding…"

"Well, now you have some. Just don't go all crazy, alright?"

He grins, opening the pack, and selects a light blue pencil. "Hold still," he says, turning my cheek towards him with one hand. I sit still obediently, used to people painting and drawing on my face. It takes him a few minutes, but then he draws back and I hop off the bed, darting over to the mirror to see. Nothing fancy, just a filled in raindrop with little lines around it. I laugh and return to the bed.

"That'll be your victor talent. Makeup artist."

Ronan snorts, setting the box aside, and selects the largest one, containing a pair of small black gloves with no fingertips. He inspects them, "Um…thanks?"

"The sales attendant said they're supposed to keep your hands from getting sweaty while you have them on. You can use them when you train…or whenever, I guess. Anyway, I thought you'd like them."

He tries one on and flexes his fingers, wiggling them back and forth, and bends his wrist a few times. "They fit," he says, surprised. I don't blame him. I thought they were for a younger person when I first saw them.

"They're made to fit any pair of hands." I repeat what the attendant said.

"Huh. Well how about that." He removes the glove, setting it carefully back in the box, and takes another bite of the pastry. After swallowing he says, "So, what's in that box?"

I hold it out to him and he carefully opens it while it's still in my hand. Then he inhales sharply. He stares at the contents for a moment then with careful fingers he removes the delicate silver chain with the topaz gem on it.

"It's your birthstone," I say. "Every month has a stone assigned to it—don't know why—but that's the one for your month. I know it's meant for a girl, but I thought it was beautiful and—"

He cuts off my words with a searing kiss that steals my breath away.

"I love it," he says and fastens it around his neck. The chain is long enough that it can easily be hidden under his shirt. "Thank you, Dylan."

I beam then pull out a nearly identical necklace out from under my tank top. "I got one with my birthstone. It's a peridot. I figure since we can't ever…this is the next best thing."

"Goes well with your hair," he says.

Of course, then my body decides to remind me that I've gotten virtually no sleep since Jude was murdered a week ago with a huge yawn that probably gives Ronan a good look at each and every one of my teeth.

"Oh, sorry," I say as the yawn dies away.

Ronan sighs, studying the dark circles under my eyes. "When was the last time you got a decent nights sleep?"

"Um…the eve of the Reaping." I say sheepishly.

Ronan's eyes widen. "Alright, that's it. Get under the covers, Dylan; you need a good night's sleep."

He scoops up the boxes and carries them back over to my dresser while I crawl under the covers. He waits for me to arrange the pillows then joins me under the sheets, wrapping his arm securely around me. The Capitol beds may be way comfier than anything here, but I've grown so accustomed to having Ronan here in the past few months that it was hard for me to find sleep while I was away, even on good days. Especially since he acts like a ward against the nightmares, nightmares that have only gotten worse since Tessa's death.

He slowly runs his hands through my hair. It's like a silent lullaby singing me to sleep. I sigh contently and snuggle closer. It doesn't take me long to doze off.

Before I fall asleep, though, I hear the telltale taptap of the cat-flap and a moment later I feel a tiny body leap onto the bed. Nixie hesitates at the end of the bed, surveying us and looking for a place to claim as her own, then she carefully makes her way along my back and I feel her plop down near my shoulders. I smile to myself as I drift into sleep with my head tucked under Ronan's chin.

When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I see is sea-green. Eyes. Ronan. He's been watching me sleep. I smile shyly.

"Mornin'," he whispers, giving me a chaste kiss on the lips. "No nightmares?"

"None. Best sleep I've had in weeks."

He smiles, "Good."

I smile back at him but then as he leans forward to kiss me, I force myself to break out of his grip. We'll never get up if I don't be assertive. "Come on, time to go."

"But I don't wanna," he whines, reaching for me.

"None of that. Time to get moving."

"You just got back," he protests, "and I don't see why you're so eager to get back to work. We should just spend all day in here."

I narrow my eyes. "Oh you would like that, wouldn't you? Nope, nuh uh. Get up and get dressed."

He whines again, giving me the big puppy eyes, but I shake my head adamantly and roll out of bed.  
"Come on, you can't resist the face…"

"This is me resisting it. Up."

"No."

I sigh, grab my workout clothes from the closet, and head for the bathroom. I move his carefully folded clothes so I don't get them wet and wash my face, brush my teeth, and comb my hair up into a ponytail. When I come back, dressed and ready, Ronan's burrowed under the blankets, his head hidden under the pillow almost defiantly. I smirk and retreat into the bathroom to get my secret weapon.

I yank back the covers then dump a cupful of ice cold water onto his back. He is unable to contain the unmanly yelp that rises in his throat. He jumps out of bed, glaring at me, then storms into the bathroom. I cackle gleefully.

Not long after the 70 ½th Hunger Games, I made myself a permanent part of Ronan's training. It was easy to arrange it since I'd done long-distance training with his group. Every morning I didn't go to the Denali I went on a five-mile run with him, and when I didn't go, someone else did. Every other afternoon, we practiced sparring with a spear or trident or daggers for close-range and knives and a bow for long-range. When there was need for a different weapon type, I stood back and monitored while some other victor or trainer sparred. Sometimes we fought as a pair against an opponent; sometimes he fought me and another trainer. Somehow, a few months before the Games, I ended up becoming the long-distance trainer for Tessa, Jude, Kelli, _and _Ronan. And now Tessa and Jude are dead. But, as I've told myself multiple times, they were killed close-range. It's not because I failed to teach them something.

Our current route takes us along the road to Crest, stopping at the dead tree, then back towards Victor's Village, through the market, around the ring of mansions where Mom or Dad or Annie is usually waiting to give us water bottles, then back to the Training Center. By the end we're usually so out of breath that we don't talk, but at the beginning, we usually chat.

"So, did you have fun?" he asks as we set out. "Before they died, I mean. You hung out with Sunshine?"

"Sol," I correct automatically. "And yes I did. I had no reason to stick to Tessa or Jude. Beril's the same way, too. She only shows up when she has to."

"So what did you guys do?"

"Well, mainly, he taught me how to drive."

"To drive what?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.

"Vehicles, like a car, truck, van…"

"You mean that old white thing we go to the Landscape in?"

"Yeah, that's a van."

"You can drive that thing now? Oh thank Poseidon. Next time you can make good on your threats to take the tire."

"Take the wheel," I correct lightly. "They call the steering thing a 'wheel.' Tires are what makes it roll."

"Wait, what? Why is the thing that's not a wheel called wheel and the things that are wheels called tires?"

"Hey, don't look at me. I'm just telling you what I learned."

"Those people are nuts. So what else?"

"Well, he took me to something called a pet store. They have all sorts of animals in cages for people to buy."

"Those poor things."

"Yeah, they don't go straight to the mothers to get puppies or kittens. And there are no strays."

"…Again, weird."

"Yeah…and they also had fur dyes. Like hair dye and skin dye, but for animals. I saw a purple dog. I'm not kidding, Ronan, the dog was _purple_!"

"What kind of dog was it?"

"Oh, seas I don't even know. I didn't even know it was a dog until Sol said so. Looked more like a mutant rat than a dog. It was small, not a lot of fur, skinny legs, big eyes, and annoying little yippy bark. I think he called it a chi…wa…wa…"

"Chiwawa?" he asks disbelievingly. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Chiwawa."

"Pffftt!" He laughs. "Oh seas, that's hilarious. Chiwawa, chiwawa…"

"We also went…clubbing."

"Clubbing? I suddenly have a mental image of you with a giant club beating the crap out of Capitol citizens. …Please tell me that's slang or something."

"It means we went to clubs. Like…places where they play this crazy music and people dance—or, well, some of them dance, some of them…oh, heck, I don't even know what some of them were doing, but that wasn't dancing like I've ever seen. Never really heard music like that, either, it was so loud you could barely hear someone talking two feet from you. It was kind of…pounding. It made me want to move. It was fun. There was also a bar—like in a pub—but Sol was kind of particular about letting me over there. He wouldn't let me near alcohol and told me, flat out, once the drink left my sight, I had to consider it toxic."

"Why'd he even take you there then?"

"It was _fun_," I insist. "I didn't really drink much anyway. I mostly just danced."

What I don't tell him is how…insane it was. The bright, colorful lights flicking around the dark room, the skull-pounding music, the smell of drink, sweat, and Poseidon-knows-what-else, the press of bodies that nearly made me go ballistic until Sol calmed me down and told me to not worry about them, and just listen to the music. Focus on him. Move how I want. No one would recognize me.

I saw other couples making out, dancing with their bodies pressed together, practically doing it right there on the floor. Sol didn't even try to kiss me. He knows about Ronan, swore on his life (and his hair, which is a pretty big deal) that he would never breathe a word. He stayed close to me, but not close enough that I felt violated. I felt safer, more comfortable, actually. He was like a shield.

One man sidled up to me as I was dancing. I didn't really pay much attention to him until he was right in front of me, leering. He didn't recognize me under the makeup and lights, he couldn't have. I ignored him, focusing on Sol, until the man grabbed me. I spun around, decked him, but Sol stopped me before I could pull a blade out.

"Fuck off!" Sol snarled at the guy, putting his arm around me like I was his girl.

"Sorry, man." The guy held up his free hand while the other one nursed his broken, bloody nose. "Jeez, cutie, you pack a punch."

"Get lost," Sol said menacingly. "And stay away from my girl, you dickhead."

The guy backed off and after a moment disappeared into the throng of bodies. Sol relaxed his stance, letting his arm fall away. "Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't know that would happen."

"It wasn't your fault. Thanks."

"Just don't tell _him_about this. Or, um, any of the others. I don't want a horde of pissed off victors coming after my ass."

"I won't. Jeez, they'll kill me first."

But, of course, I don't say any of that to Ronan. Instead, I smile at him. "But, I gotta say,I like the way we dance here better."

And then it becomes too much effort to talk. It doesn't take me long to get angry and resentful. I've been lazy this last month. I didn't go on runs every day in the Training Center—I'm out of shape. But I insisted we go the full run today without giving myself a chance to work up to it. Then I try to make it Ronan's fault—it's his fault I'm even doing this at all—but I'm too worn out to voice my complaints. But I think he's really tired, too. We arrive back at the complex thirty minutes later than normal which gives him almost no time to shower and change and nurse his feet. He gives my shoulder a farewell squeeze and I feel all the love he wishes he could express in that one gesture. It's enough.

I retreat to my room, fill up the tub, and then collapse into the warm water, very nearly falling asleep. Nixie pokes her head over the side of the tub, mewling at me. She ends up sitting on the side, watching me trace patters on the surface with my fingers. I flick water at her teasingly. She flinches and jumps down and trots out of the room with an air of indignance. My feet are still swollen so I tread carefully into my room and change into normal clothes, a tank and shorts, then I head to the cafeteria to eat them out of house and home.

For the following weeks, we start out small and gradually start to work back up to the five mile run. He hadn't said anything, and I'd forgotten, but training is always more lax during the Hunger Games. He'd de-conditioned too. We got that fixed as quickly as possible. Before long we were back up to five mile runs, and increasing our distance as time passed.

I spent my afternoon sessions with him continually refining and practicing his techniques. Ranged fighters like me tend to be lighter and nimble, attacking and dodging rapidly. His weapon of choice has given him similar agility, but he is restricted to close-combat and one of the biggest challenges fighting someone like me is getting close enough for the kill. He has taken me down before, several times, but for every time he's beaten me, I've beaten him twice.

Last year, when I first instructed his group, I told them, "My goal is not to defeat you. My goal is for you to defeat me. Because that's what this is about. I'm not here to teach you how to die. I'm here to teach you how to win."

So I spend hours running and training with him instead of going out to the boats or hanging around with Fin and Annie. He _is _going to win. I _will not _lose him. I disregard Kelli entirely unless I am forced to have contact with her. I have never wanted another person dead as much as I do her. She is nothing to me, nothing but someone in the way of Ronan's safety. She has undoubtedly noted my coldness towards her, because she does not seek me out for anything outside our lessons. Reno has approached me about this, questioning my hostility. I have to be more sociable. But I want her dead. I do not want to teach her to survive. Let Beril train her, or something.

Three months after the Hunger Games, I think Ronan's ready to face Cora Darkwater, the victor of the 54th Hunger Games. Cora won her Games by her fierce nature and her berserker-like tendencies. When she fights, if she allows herself, she loses all inhibitions and restraint. She usually stays out of sparring for this reason, except with trainees at Ronan's level or victors themselves who want a good fight for whatever reason. We only let her near trainees because there may very well be someone like her in the arena. I do not know Cora very well personally, only her reputation, which makes Beril seem tame and my incident with Skyler seem harmless. Of course there is must be mutual consent from other trainers and Ronan and Cora themselves.

I sit in the gym to observe the session to look for errors in his technique to correct in my session the following day. Well, that's my official reason. I'm actually here to make sure she doesn't kill him and I think Savan was hoping I would when I suggested it. I am armed, ready to intervene at a moment's notice. Cora's using a rapier against his dual swords. So far, Ronan seems to be holding his own quite well and Cora hasn't gone into any sort of frenzy yet. Their Shield Skins are protecting them from most wounds.

She knows her limits, thankfully. "Last one for the day, Flit."

"I'm ready," he says, shifting his stance.

Cora smirks and stalks towards him, rapier held aloft. She jabs at him and he parries the blow, flipping to the side and bringing his free hand up to slice at her arm. She avoids it, leaping away before attacking again. I watch their fight anxiously, noting the way Cora becomes fiercer as it progresses, neither of them able to gain the upper hand. They are wearing the Shield Skins at Cora's request so any blows above their forearms and shins do not penetrate the skin. Good thing, too, because she tries to stab his stomach and the blow rebounds off. She backs off a moment to rein herself in then attacks again.

I try not to move an inch. Ronan is not so easily sidetracked by me anymore, but still. My red hair is very distracting to anyone, but if he sees it move, he will remember I'm here and lose focus. Any distraction at all is bad, especially with Cora as your opponent.

But then he makes a mistake, reaching out too far and leaving his neck open and exposed, close to her like an offering. I see it from here and I know Cora does too. She goes for it and as he brings his blades up to intercept her rapier, she changes her position. It's not much, but it's enough for her blade to miss the swords. And a rapier is so, so sharp.

The top of the blade slices into Ronan's wrist, nearly going straight through until Cora can stop it. My whole body tenses and my eyes widen in horror. Ronan's hand twitches, the sword falls from his fingers, and Cora, realizing what she's done, let's go of her rapier. It hits the ground, clattering against the fallen sword. Ronan stares at his nearly severed hand as blood gushes from the wound like a waterfall, splashing onto his legs, his clothes, the weapons, the ground.

It sounds like rain, but heavier. Because blood—

Ronan looks up at me. "She…cut me." He says softly with a disbelieving smile on his face.

—is thicker than water.

He crumples to the ground.

I scream.

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**Ah, eheheheh... ^^; **

**Review?  
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	34. Hospital

**Hey Wendy, look! I posted it after midnight! :)  
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**Sorry guys, inside joke. Anyway! I'm going back and editing the earlier chapters because they're over two years old (I worked a lot before I _actually_ posted them). Closing plot holes, making things sound better, stuff like that. So far only chapter 1 has been revised and posted. I'm working on a lot of things at the moment. **

**Speaking of which, IT'S TIME FOR SHAMELESS PROMOTING! If you've got time, I'd like you all to check out a project I'm working on. As most of you are unaware of, I'm actually an actress and a producer. ...*bows*... I'm currently making an audio book of a deviant art comic called Over the Mountains and Far Away by Skailla. I highly encourage you to look at the comic and the audio book. My youtube channel is WintermothStudios (big surprise, huh?). Link is on my profile.  
**

**Okay now here's the chapter since I know you all want to know what I've done too poor Ronan.  
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**OH OH! One last thing. I don't remember if I ever mentioned this, but since I was talking to Wendy about Ronan and Dylan, I realized you all might not know how to properly pronounce Ronan's name. Traditionally the pronunciation is Row-nan (like row a boat), but his name is pronounced Rah-nan. But it didn't look right when I spelled it Ranan or Rahnan or Ranen so I just went with Ronan. I hope that helps!  
**

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I drop to the ground in front of a creek, desperately gasping for breath. My arms shake and my hands grip a bloody knife. Blood. There's blood on my hands. So much blood… The creek. Water. Water washes away blood.

I fling the knife aside and crawl towards the creek, plunging my shaking hands into the cool water. It turns red as blood swirls around in the water. I close my eyes and take deep breaths, trying to calm down. I lift my hands from the water, expecting them to be clean. With a startled gasp, I realize they're as bloody as ever. I stick them back into the water, watch blood swirl away, then pull them out again. Blood. Still blood.

I do it again. Rub them together, against rocks at the bottom, smack at the water. "Come off…Come off…" I say frantically, my voice rising. I bury my hands in the soft bottom of the shallows, pull them out, scrub some more. "Come off…Come off! Why won't you come off?"

Blood, blood. It's my fault. I killed him. Cut him up. Tortured him. Skyler, it's his blood on my hands. It's the boy from 12's blood, the boy from 6's. Rinn's blood. Jules' blood. It won't go away.

I kneel there, my hands in the water, and sob. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't…" I whimper, then look at the sky and scream, "I didn't want to do it!"

A twig snaps. I gasp, my sobs cutting off abruptly. I jump away from the water, grabbing my discarded knife, and look around warily. More twigs snap, getting louder. Footsteps. I turn in the direction they're coming from. I frown and flip the knife around to throw it.

A boy bursts out of the tree, eyes wild, hair plastered to his face with sweat, water, and grime. I stare at him in shock. No, no, impossible. He's dead. I felt it. "G-Garret?"

Garret rushes at me and shoves me towards the creek. "Go! Go! Run, Dylan, run!"

"No, no. You can't be, " I say, but his body is undeniably corporal. "You're—"

He continues pushing me towards the creek. "They're coming! Go! Run! I'll be right behind you, run!" he orders, looking over his shoulder. There is no denying the fear in his voice. I trust him more than anyone else. So I run. I glance back to make sure he's with me, then run faster.

"Run, Dylan!" he repeats.

I run. I run as hard and fast as I can. My legs pump in time, my feet thudding against the ground with no attempt to soften my steps. I don't know what's pursuing us, but if it has him this scared, it can't be good and I don't doubt any attempt at sneaking will just get me killed. "Run! Ruun!"

His voice…is it getting fainter?

"Keep going, hurry! Go Dylan!"

It is, I'm sure of it. I look over my shoulder, but there is no trace of him. I slow down, looking all around, but he's not there.

"Don't stop! Keep running!" he shouts. How can he see me? "Dylan _GO!_"

"Garret?" I cry. "Where are you?"

"Run! _Run!_"

I don't know what else to do, so I run, crashing blindly through the trees. He's stopped shouting now. I keep going. But now I can sense it, what had him scared. I am being chased, something's behind me. I can't see it, but I know it's there, it's out for my blood. Ahead I see the light from the open lands. If I can get there I can lose it in the tall swaying stalks of grass.

Without warning, a figure that's so filthy and bloody that it looks like it crawled out from a grave, springs out in front of me. I scream and skid to a stop just a perilous few feet from it. A savage face stares at me from under a mat of filthy hair. Green eyes blazing, teeth an evil shade of white, it snarls at me. In it's hand is a bloody axe. But the most awful part is that I recognize the person underneath. It's Sawyer.

"No!" I scream.

She raises the axe to attack me, no hint of recognition on her face.

"Nooooo!"

She screams, the axe rushing towards my throat—

I scream and leap out of the chair, body tensed to fight or flee. Gasping and panting, I look around the sterile room with the beeping machines and chairs and a bed with a boy on it. A strangled sound escapes my throat and I jump onto the bed, curling up in the space between his left side and the edge of the bed. I'm shaking, gasping, and crying, and holding onto him for dear life, but he's gone, lost in a haze of drugs that he won't wake from for hours.

_Just a dream. Just a nightmare._

I hate hospitals. I despise them. Their services are great, but I _hate _hospitals and I don't like infirmaries much either; any place that smells sterilized and is filled with machines, needles, and pain. I'd had to live in one for ages after my Finals after Nita maimed me. I'd been trapped in one for several days after the Games ended. I'd lost Evan in one. They smell too clean, too much like the Capitol. But underneath the chemicals intended to mask it, I can smell blood and death. The hospital is so, so expensive. No one comes here _ever_unless there is no other hope. That's why it's not very big. One ward of private rooms, and two public wards where beds were divided by curtains, a few operating rooms, and a lobby. I got him a private room. No one is allowed in without my permission.

I have not left Ronan's side since they brought him out of surgery. That was the first time I've managed to sleep. I've not spoken, except for the scream just now, since we arrived. I'm afraid if I open my mouth now I'll start screaming again. Finnick arrived sometime after they took Ronan back. When the doctors came to speak to me, Finnick had to talk for me.

_"He's lost a lot of blood, but nothing too serious. He's currently on a special supplement until one of his parents can get in here to donate blood. I'm afraid we don't have enough blood stored to just_—_"_

_"We'll pay for it."_

_"What?"_

_"You heard me. Don't you know who we are? We have more than enough money. Give him what he needs, we'll cover everything. Just keep him alive."_

Well, they'd certainly done that. Ronan was unconscious from the drugs they'd used in surgery and the morphling they put into his IV a little while ago. My gaze follows the tube from the IV down to his arm, then down his arm his hand, then across his body to the bandaged lump at the end of his other arm.

_"The bone and most of the nerves, tendons, and muscles were almost completely severed. We simply do not have the technology to save his hand. Unless you can get him to the Capitol now, there is nothing we can do."_

Ronan is not a victor. Ronan is no one special to the Capitol. It would work if he was a victor, but he's not. And for the Capitol to help him, they would have to know how it happened, and that would mean they have to acknowledge we have a training compound. That's what Savan said. Finnick even called Anders, but he said the same thing.

This is going to kill him. Ronan's weapon of choice, his talent, are the dual swords. He needs both his hands to fight. Not that he's ever going to have a reason to fight after this. He's out of the Trials now, officially. Zal, one of the boys who trained with Ronan, has been asked to replace him. I don't know if he's agreed. But his weapon, his skills, are as much a part of him as mine are of me. There is so much he won't be able to do now. And I'm feeling sorry for myself? Ha!

The door opens and I turn my head towards the sound to see who would dare cross me right now. Oh, just a doctor, a woman with blonde hair. She stops when she sees me, her hand lingering on the door, and her mouth falls open into an 'o' of surprise. Then, she does something I didn't expect. She smiles.

"You know, that's the second time you've done that."

"Huh?"

The woman shuts the door and heads over to check the machines. "I don't suppose you remember. It was about…eleven years ago now, maybe. You saved…that boy, your friend from Fate."

"Pisces."

"Yes, him. I was his doctor. You refused to leave his bedside until he woke up. After he woke up, I came to check on him, left, and when I came back a few minutes later, you two were curled up together under the blanket, holding hands. It was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. And here you are now, all grown up, doing the same with another boy."

"Oh," I say quietly, not able to draw up the memory. I turn to look at Ronan's sleeping face again. Silence for a moment, then I murmur, "Pisces went into the arena with me. …He could've killed me. He should've. But he didn't."

"I remember that too," the woman says. "I actually cried when I heard you talk about it. I hadn't made the connection until then. I've had so many patients, you know. But I've never heard of any other child go into Fate to save someone and live."

I swallow. "He spared my life because of that. …I…I never…I actually forgot about it, you know. Until that night he told me why he hadn't killed me. But he hadn't. He never forgot."

"What goes around comes around, as they say," she says studying the screen monitoring his pulse.

"I suppose so."

She looks at us, considering. "And what about this one, then?"

"What about him?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

She seems to read the mistrust on my face. "Well, if it's private, I won't breathe a word. But you can do this," she gestures to the bed, "when you're eight and no one will think anything of it. But not when you're eighteen."

"I'm twenty," I mumble.

She waits.

I sigh. "He's my…" I swallow. "I am his trainer. He was to be the tribute for the 72nd Hunger Games. I, along with several other of his instructors, believed he was ready to face one of our more volatile victors, Cora. This is the result."

"That's not…" She begins, then sighs. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is. It was my idea he go against Cora. I'm the reason he's here."

"Yes," she says, leaning across Ronan's body to put her hand on my arm. "You are. Because without you providing the funds, we wouldn't have been able to give him the care he needed. That blood especially. You're the reason he's alive."

"You would have just let him die?" I ask, my voice dangerously low.

The doctor wisely removes her hand from my arm. "Miss Syle, you have to understand. All our supplies are limited. We have to pay for everything we use, we don't just get restocked. Everything we use has to be compensated or we can't by more. You cannot imagine the amount of money that was needed to even fund this place. It was thanks to some of the earliest victors, actually. If we cannot be guaranteed some form of payment, our hands are tied. That's just the way it is."

I do understand. I hate it, but I understand. They can't put one life over others just like that. I nod a bit.

Sighing, I rest my head on his shoulder while the doctor busies herself with the IV attached to Ronan's arm. I keep an eye on her. I wonder what they would've done for me and Pisces if we hadn't been able to pay. Would they have just let all my effort, all I risked, go to waste? Wait a second. Is that a needle?

"What are you doing?"

"I'm inserting the counterdrug for the anesthesia into his system." She says as she inserts the needle into the IV.

"I don't speak 'doctor.'"

"I'm allowing him to wake up when his body is ready instead of forcing him to sleep."

"Oh," I say. Now why couldn't she have just said that?

"By the way," she says, withdrawing the needle. "Mr. Odair asked me to let you know that the boy's parents have been informed and they are on their way."

My eyes widen. I've never met the Flits. I wonder if they even _know_about me. Oh, wow, this is going to get awkward.

"Do I have permission to let them in?" she asks.

I blink. "They're his parents."

"And he is under the care of your program, if I am not mistaken. And you are his benefactor. The decision is yours."

I nod. "Let them in."

"Alright. If he wakes up, press that button on the wall please."

I nod again. The doctor smiles, observing the two of us again for a moment, then leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her. I stay there, curled up against him for a moments, then slide off the bed, pull the plush chair I'd been sitting in over the bed, and curl up in it, resting my head on his mattress, my hand firmly clasped in his remaining one. The annoying beeping of the heart monitor gradually fades into the background as my tired body drifts back towards sleep.

"Ma'am! Ma'am, sir! You can't go in there! It's private!"

I start. Lifting my head to gaze at the door, I squeeze Ronan's hand tightly.

"He's my son!" A woman's voice shrieks, the high pitched sound bouncing off the walls.

"But the room is _private_," a young male voice insists. "You have to have permission!"

"_He is my son! This is not the damn compound! I can see him when I want!_"

"Ma'am, please! Sir, don't! You must understand…!" Then the voice of an older man joins in with the woman, hollering at the unfortunate young man loud enough to rouse Pisces from his grave.

"Enough!" The voice of the blonde doctor rings out and the other voices fall silent. I lay my head back down and pretend to be asleep. I hear voices talking quietly and then the door slowly opens. I force myself to not react at all. Though I'm certain if the shouting hadn't woken me, the door opening would have. Still, I don't move.

"Who's that?" A light voice, probably a few years younger than Ronan, blurts out. If she is with his parents, I will guess it's his sister, Sera.

I guess he never told his family about us.

"I…don't know." The woman who must be his mother, Bree, says slowly. "Adrion?"

If Adrion responds it's not vocally. I peek my eye open just a bit. The woman standing there is strawberry blonde and the girl who appears about sixteen is red-haired like Ronan, though hers lacks the hue that reminds me of rust. The man, Adrion, has dark brown hair. They all look haggard and windblown, as if they flew the whole way here and haven't slept in days.

"Does he have a girlfriend?" Sera asks, but no one has an answer.

Adrion walks towards me, leaning close to examine my face, and I force myself to not move, to not react at all. "Well, this is interesting," he murmurs, backing away.

"Do you know her?"

"She's a victor."

"Oh!" Serah gasps. "Whoa..."

"What's she doing here like this?" Bree demands.

"I'll go check," Adrion says and leaves the room. Bree and Sera continue to watch me, as if they're afraid to get too close to Ronan with me there. Adrion returns a moment later and shuts the door behind him. "Bree, she's his instructor," he says quietly after a moment. "…And his benefactor."

Both Bree and Sera inhale sharply at this news. They look at all the machines and at Ronan. I can just see them trying to estimate how much it all cost. I don't care. I don't need the money.

"She…she paid for…" Sera asks quietly.

"It would seem so," Adrion replies, then tilts his head to one side. "You know, Ronan's told me about victors before. Some stuff he learned early-on about them. A big one was that, even years out of the arena, there are certain sounds can wake them up instantly. Like a door opening…or conversations happening two feet from them," he says pointedly.

Damn, didn't think about that. No point in pretending anymore. I lift my head from the bed. "Or a screaming match outside the door. I'm sorry about that. I told them you were allowed in. The guy mustn't have gotten the message."

They just look at me.

"They put a counterdrug in his system a while ago." I finally say, knowing what they really care about. "He could wake up any time."

Reluctantly, I release his hand and stand up from the chair. "You may sit, Mrs. Flit. I can stand." I back away to the wall.

But it's Sera who sits in the chair, taking her brother's remaining hand. Her parents glare at me and if it weren't for years of practicing masking my emotions, I would shrink back from their gaze. As it is, I can barely look them in the eyes. It's my fault he lost his hand. I suggested he go against Cora so he could understand what it's like to fight someone who can lose their inhibitions. In case he's ever against someone like Sawyer. Did someone tell them? No, I think they would've tried to strangle me. That's their _son _lying in that bed…

"You are his instructor." Adrion finally states.

I nod. "I'm Dylan Syle. I teach combat against a ranged fighter and I'm Ronan's personal endurance and stamina trainer."

Adrion arches one eyebrow and a grin slowly spreads across Sera's face.

"I'm training him to run long distances," I explain too late.

Sera giggles a bit and Adrion's expression doesn't change.

Great. _Just _great.

Bree finally looks away from me and approaches her son. She stands on the other side, looking down at his bandaged arm. Tears well up in her eyes and when she blinks, they trickle down onto her cheeks. Her hands shake as she reaches out to touch the bandage and then his face.

"My poor boy," she whispers then kisses his forehead.

"What happened?" Adrion demands to know.

I swallow and straighten, trying to be professional. "Ronan was sparring with Cora, one of the earlier victors. Cora has a…tendency to… She can lose control during battle and uses rage and instinct to fight instead of knowledge and skill. We call someone who uses that method a 'berserker.' Berserkers can be compared to those who have gone insane and reacted violently in the arena, like my final opponent did. As a general rule, Cora does not spar with anyone who hasn't been in the arena or who isn't about to go into the arena. There was a vote, of course, and he was deemed ready. Cora insisted he be wearing the longest Shield Skin we have—they are jumpsuits designed to function like shields, they work quite well, I assure you. The one he wore stopped half an inch before his wrist.

"I was present during their session because, honestly, Cora is someone who needs to be monitored when she's armed. She declared it their last round of the day and during this spar, she must have started slipping into berserker mode without realizing. He made an error and left his neck quite exposed. She went for it—the Skin would've saved him, but he brought his swords up to deflect the blow and her rapier caught him just past the edge of the Skin…and…you know the rest."

Sera looks pale. Bree has her hands over her face. Adrion, however, looks furious.

"You let someone like Cora Darkwater spar with children?" he demands.

I meet his gaze levelly. "You never know when there will be another Cora Darkwater tossed into the arena. All our tributes fight with her at least once. They even made me fight her after I was a victor because I never did before. Cora has hurt people before, she _is _a victor, though as far as I know, this is one of the more severe injuries dealt to a student."

Adrion looks like he is honestly considering punching me.

"If I hadn't paid for all of this, and the blood he needed, he'd be dead now."

"And why would you do that?" Sera asks.

I look at the sister Ronan loves so much. He was willing to go into the arena for her so she could have her dream. "Because I am the one that suggested he fight Cora that day." I say and then close my eyes and slump against the wall.

I expect shouting or violence. Not the eerie silence that meets my words, penetrated only by the steady _beep beep beep_registering the beat of Ronan's heart. I listen to Adrion's footsteps as he joins his wife on the other side of the bed. They murmur softly to each other once but I do not try to pick out words. Bree starts to cry. A few minutes later, Sera speaks.

"You know, none of my teachers would fall asleep holding my hand like that," she muses.

I open my eyes to see her twisted around in the chair, watching me. I open my mouth once, then close it. What would I say?

_Um, because I'm Ronan's girlfriend. We've been together for about half a year now, longer if you count how long we were just friends. Sorry we never said anything._

Yeah, that'll go over well.

Suddenly Bree gasps loudly and reaches for Ronan. "Ronan? Honey, it's me, it's momma."

I jerk forward, then stop. Honestly, the only things keeping me from rushing over to the bed are his family. I get the feeling they don't like me. Or at least don't know what to make of me. Ronan's stirring on the bed, his left hand slowly reaching towards the place where his right hand should be. It gropes around at the stump encased in cast then goes still. He opens his eyes, looking around blearily.

"It's momma. I'm here, Ron."

"M-mom?" he croaks quietly.

"I'm right here," she says, grasping his left hand.

"Dad?"

"You idiot," Adrion rumbles.

"We've been so worried," Sera whimpers.

"Hey…sis…" He closes his eyes and inhales slowly. I retreat to the wall again, not wanting to intrude on their family. "Wh… where…?" he mumbles.

"You're in the Village hospital." Bree tells him.

"No…no…where…is…?"

"What?"

"More like who, I think." Sera says quietly, then raises her voice so he can hear. "She's right behind me."

Ronan's head turns, his half-closed eyes searching for me. His vision mustn't be perfect right now, if he didn't notice me before. I move away from the wall and I'm by the bed in three quick steps. Ronan's lips twitch up into a smile. My eyes fill with tears.

"Hey," he whispers and I can see relief through the fog in his eyes.

"Hey," I reply as tears begin to trickle down my cheeks.

"I got cut?"

"Just a bit."

"I…don't…I'm not gonna…train…anytime soon, huh?"

I close my eyes and shake my head. "But you're alive."

"Jus…keepin'…my promise."

I laugh once, despite the situation. I want to kiss him, but somehow it feels wrong in front of his parents who may or may not like me. He manages to free his hand from his mother's grasp, though, and holds it to my cheek, lifting his chin like he wants to kiss me. Well, so much for that then. I lean down and press my lips to his for a moment, then draw back after I hear Bree gasp.

"You didn't tell them, did you?" I murmur.

"Hmmm?"

"Your family. You didn't tell them."

His head flops feebly from side to side. "You said…no one…"

I exhale a laugh. "I think your parents would've been okay."

"Mmm…you can…I'm gonna…sleep…" he mumbles.

"I'll be here when you wake up," I promise.

"Mmm…kay…" he mumbles. When his hand goes slack, I know he's out again. I kneel by the bed and kiss his hand, holding it to my face as I stare intently at him, determined not to look at his parents.

"I don't do that to my teachers, either." Sera says matter-of-factly.

I swallow once. Well, the cat's out of the bag now. I press my lips to his hand again then continue to rub it gently with one hand, reaching up to brush some hair out of his face with the other.

"I'm only going to ask you this once," Adrion says after a moment. "Do you love him?"

I hesitate, wondering how to answer. I could just say 'yes' and be done with it, but that seems inadequate, all things considering. "More than you can imagine." I murmur, finally looking up at him so he can see the tears in my eyes.

Adrion stares at me. "And you were going to let him go into the arena?"

"It's what he wanted," I whisper.

"So you were just going to let him die?"

I smile just a bit. "Someone always survives. I'm here, aren't I?" I swallow and look at Ronan. "I've spent the last…year training him. More intensively since the Finals. If he dies in the arena, it will not be from lack of training. …If he had died in the arena, I mean. He's…been removed from the program. The injury is too severe."

"It _is_too severe," Sera says to her father. "He can't be a carpenter either now."

"This is not the time for that, Sera." He gives her a warning look.

"Because of the nature of his injury," I say, "I am going to insist he remain in the complex for a few more months."

"Why?" Bree demands. "He's no longer in the program, you said so yourself. He's never setting foot in there again if I have anything to say about it."

"But you don't, really, do you?" I say, standing up. "He is eighteen and still, technically, under our care even though he is no longer eligible to be a tribute. Unless he explicitly wishes to go home, he will remain with us until we say so otherwise."

"He is my son," she says. "You will not tell me—"

"Yes I will! Think about _him_ for a moment, would you? What can you possibly do for him?" I demand. "You live in _Gull Cove_. The closest thing you have to a doctor is an apothecary! Here we have doctors, we have medicine. The center has its own infirmary. We can provide medicine and help him adapt. Can you? Could you even pay the hospital bills without our help?"

"Help? Look where we are! I think you've helped him enough!" Bree yells.

Without really meaning to, I draw on every ounce of anger and menace left in me and bare my teeth at her. Her eyes widen and she actually takes a step back. I suck in a breath through my teeth and exhale loudly, forcing myself to calm down and my shoulders to relax. "Look, I don't even know what day it is and what sleep I've managed to get has been full of nightmares. I get that he's your son and you're just as concerned and stressed as I am, but now is not a good time for this." I take another deep breath.

"We can help him. You don't know him, not like I do. Believe me; I went through the same thing after I was kicked from the Trials. None of my family members had any idea what to do with me. I wasn't the girl they knew anymore." I look down at Ronan. "They'd seen me a few times throughout the training years, but I'd changed more than they'd realized. Old jokes weren't funny anymore and my new jokes weren't funny to them." I look at Sera. "My little brother and sister didn't play the same games we used to. My mother didn't know how to talk to me, my father didn't either, and my brother didn't even try.

"Do you know what we're put through as we train? Under normal circumstances, it'd take him six months _at least _before he's calm enough to work in a public place. It's going to take him longer than that to adapt to being one-handed! We have people with similar handicaps who can help. We can contact other victors to ask for advice—like Chaff Sando from 11, he's missing an arm. He needs someone who understands him, who knows him. I do. I can help him. I'm going to help him. He saved my life once."

At the end of my speech, I sit down in the bed again and look at his face. I let the tears roll down my cheeks freely and wait for the response.

I had to return to the training center to take feed Nixie, get clothes, and arrange for payments to the hospital. His parents hadn't wanted to leave him but there were no living quarters in the hospital and without any place to go but home to Gull Cove, I convinced my parents to let Ronan's parents lodge with them while Sera went home to take care of the work.

For two days we've been duking it out with the Flits. Savan heard both arguments and sided with me, as I'd hoped, and a handful of trainers jumped onboard, including Cora. But there were more than a few siding with the Flits. This wouldn't be such a big deal if he wasn't in line to be tribute. The only one who stayed out of it was Lillian. Her opinion as a mother was that he go home to his family, but as a trainer, she thought it was best he stay where it would be most beneficial to his health.

Trying to reason with those two was like trying to convince a school of fish to swim into a net.

When I go back during the afternoon of the third day, I find him awake, only on low doses of morphine to dull the pain, no where near enough to knock him out. So he's spent hours just lying in the bed without anyone to entertain him except pain. I feel horrible. I can't imagine what he must be going through now. Having his life suddenly torn out from under him, that I can understand, it happened to me. But losing his hand? It'd be like me losing my eyes. My sight is a key tool when fighting at a distance. His weapon requires two hands working together in perfect harmony. And now there is no hope of that again. I cannot get him to the Capitol. I cannot get Capitol prosthetics to him.

We sit on the bed together, my hand firmly clasped in his, not speaking, just being together.

"Say it," he finally whispers.

"Say what?" I murmur.

"What you're really thinking."

"…I'm sorry." I whisper, resting my face on his shoulder. "If I hadn't…then Cora wouldn't have…" I wipe the tears away before they can fall. "I'm so sorry. I wanted you to stay here with me, but not like this."

I see his right arm twitch, like he was about to raise it, then he hisses with pain and his entire body tenses. _"Son of a_…"

"Do you need more morphling?" I fret.

He shakes his head, a quick jerky motion, and exhales through his teeth. His hand squeezes mine so tightly I'm afraid he'll break it, but I don't care. I probably deserve it. After a minute of sharp breaths and squeezing my hand, he relaxes an looks down at me.

"Whoops."

I slap his shoulder. "Idiot. Don't move that arm."

"I was just trying to hug you," he mumbles.

I shake my head. "Not even for me." But my eyes are drawn to it again, the mound of bandages covering the stump that now ends his right arm. What is it going to _look_like under there…?

"So," he asks, snapping my attention away from the cast. "What's the game plan?"

"Er…"

"What's going to happen to me?" he asks conversationally. I recognize the tone, the one he's using when he's trying to hide how he really feels. It always sends a shudder down my spine, ever since he used it while telling me to kill myself a few months ago. He was really trying to talk me down, but still.

"Well, there's been debate about that," I say. "Between us and your parents."

He gives me a knowing look. "And by debate you mean…"

"Screaming matches and various threats, one in particular involved a certain area of Savan's body and your father's work tools."

Ronan blinks at me and then he bursts out laughing so hard his body shakes and his hand tightens around mine. His lets out a hiss of pain, but still chuckles underneath.

"Oh wow," he says once he can talk.

"Yes, it's been quite…heated. Your parents want you to go home with them and never come back. I want you to stay here in the Village area and Savan, Finnick, Reno, Zaire, Cora, Arco, and Beril are on my side. Finnick's on my side because, well, it's Fin and he and Reno were your trainers. Zaire and Arco can help you; Cora feels like she owes it to you, and Beril, well, I think she's in it just for the fight."

Ronan snorts.

"There's a few trainers, too. Everyone else is either on your parent's side or staying out of it.. But…technically, you're still under our command and we decide when you come or go. But your parents aren't having any of that. We've kind of been waiting for you to wake up so we could hear your opinion. You have two options at this juncture. One: you can go home to Gull Cove with your family. Two: you can stay here with us…with me.

"If you go home to Gull Cove, you'll have a much harder time. Yes, you'll be with your family, but it's a slum, right? You won't have access to medical treatment if you need it. Plus, and you have to trust me on this Ronan, it's going to take you a long time to be able to readjust to normal living, just from how far along you are in the program." I sit up and look at him. "But if you stay in the Village, you will have access to the infirmary any time you need it, you will have victors who've gone through the same types of things to help you, and we can give you therapy and teach you to fight with one hand, if that's what you want. And I think you will."

Ronan nods slowly. "And after? What then? I can't just…stay at the complex forever. Do I go back to the Cove then? Or will they let me live in your room…?"

"I don't know," I admit. "We'll figure that part out when it gets here."

"If I go, I won't be able to come back later?"

"You will always be able to come back," I say. "But I can't go with you."

"And if I stay…my family…?"

"They can come visit you, too, if they wish. You're not a trainee anymore. If you want, we can even send a fare-car after them once or twice a month. I'll pay for it."

"Speaking of pay," he says suddenly. "How…exactly…" he jerks his head towards the machines.

"Are you able to have all of this?"

"Yeah."

"I paid for it," I say.

"Everything?"

"Down to the last drop of morphling."

"Sweet Poseidon," he whispers. "This must have cost a—"

"Fortune? I have one, remember? It's blood money, but at least it's being put to good use."

"Why?"

"I love you." I say. "Isn't that enough?"

He stares at me for a second longer, then he jerks forward and kisses me and I can feel the gratitude he can never express with words. His good hand holds my head close to his and I have to hold onto the sheet to keep from rolling off the bed. The steady _beep beep beep_increases and he jerks back, his eyes wide. His face goes white before taking on an unhealthy green tinge and I realize how much his arm has moved.

"Oh…son of…" he croaks thumping back down onto the inclined bed. His face is screwed up in agony and if he didn't have the control and pain tolerance of a Career, I'm pretty sure he'd be screaming bloody murder. "More morphling please!" he finally gasps and I quickly reach for the button to ping the doctors.

A minute of painful gasping later, the blonde doctor, whose surname I have learned is Lyre, comes in. "Is everything okay?" she asks.

"He moved," I say, "a lot."

Dr. Lyre closes the door and crosses to the bed. She checks his complexion and notes the sweat pooling on his forehead and nods. She sets the drip to let more morphine in and a moment later, Ronan's tense form relaxes.

"It's going to put him to sleep." She tells me. "But it's about time he rested, anyway. You may stay if you wish."

I nod.

"Night..." Ronan mumbles then his hand goes slack. I carefully extract myself from his grip so she can repositions his arm beside him then tucks the covers up.

"Don't share the bed while he's sleeping. You could hurt him. I'll bring you a blanket if you decide to stay."

"That would be nice." I say.

"I'll bring you one later, then. You should go eat. He'll be under for a while." Lyre says, checking the IV tube. Then she gives me a once-over. "You really should eat."

I look at Ronan again for a moment. She's right, he's totally out of it. I know from experience that nothing will wake him until the drug wears off. And I'm not doing either of us any good by not eating when I can. I lean down and press my lips to his forehead then rest my forehead against his for a moment. "I'll be back," I whisper, then head off to find something worth eating.

* * *

**Post-surgery of any kind sucks ASS. Especially if your pain meds aren't good. Trust me. I know , I like Sera.  
**

**Review, please. Nixie likes reviews. It is unwise to anger Nixie.  
**


	35. Moot

**So...it's been over a month. ...Er...derp? :| Sorry guys. I added this chapter in at the last minute and had to type it up, among other things. The next two chapters are already written and I'm hoping to churn out one or two more before I move onto campus in a few weeks. I've got a minor writers block. I know what needs to happen, but I'm just not sure how to start it. **

**Holy shit I'm going to be a _college freshman._ I turn 18 exactly one month from today (8/4/12). I just got this shiny new Macbook. It's a Macbook Pro, 15-in, 2.3gH for those of you who know your tech. *_***

**Anyway, here you go. It's mostly filler...but we need some filler right now, we really do.**

* * *

There are certain ways to creep and sneak correctly. It all depends on the ground, how you place your feet, and it depends on your feet. For example, on carpet you can be barefoot or have socks, it doesn't matter, and if you know how to place your feet and balance your weight then you can move virtually undetected. This is a little more difficult in places like a wood where there are countless things underfoot that can create noise under the slightest pressure, but it's possible. I've done it countless times, one of the most vivid times being I snuck up behind Jules as he looted the supplies from Arno and his ally, Sterra, in the arena.

However, I have to say, this is the most difficult creeping endeavor I've ever attempted. The floor: linoleum. The location: the medical ward in the training center. My target: the third bed down on the right side of the room. My enemy: the middle-aged stark woman who's currently sleeping in her room, behind her office, just next to the doors. I know from experience that Ursa, our medic, is a light sleeper. I spent a long time in here after my disastrous Final. If the sound of the doors opening doesn't draw her out, footsteps most definitely will.

I learned how to open the door almost silently after many failed attempts at reaching it, we got stir crazy after a while, and from experience, the best way to creep across such floors is with socks. Walking across hard floors, your feet stick to them enough that there's a sticking sound when you pull your foot away, and sometimes when you put it down, too. A decent pair of socks will keep friction, feet won't stick, and the amount of noise is greatly reduced.

About fifteen minutes ago it became painfully clear that I wasn't going to be able to sleep. I hadn't been away from him to sleep since the injury. Alone in my room, Nixie off ruling the night somewhere since I'd not been around, every time I got close to sleep I would get flashes of what happened, or something related, and I'd jerk back away with a cold feeling running through my body. I put up with that for about three hours.

So here I am now, standing outside the infirmary doors after midnight, deciding whether or not to risk Ursa's wrath to curl up next to Ronan. She'd expressly forbidden me from spending the night here because she didn't want us to "impression the minds of any patients that may be in the room." For seas sake lady, that's really the last thing on my mind.

Ursa's been the head of the infirmary for longer than I've been alive. There isn't a person in this place who hasn't been to her at least once. She has an uncannily good memory. It's eerie how well she remembers things, down to the smallest details. I have never met someone with her ability to recall things perfectly like she does. Like everyone else employed here, Ursa was once a trainee. Her sharp mind nearly secured her the tribute slot, but one of the victors warned her at nearly the last minute that, with her memory, the arena would crush her if she lived, explaining how horrible it was for those with the ability to forget. So she backed out and hung around with the nurse of her day, eventually replacing them. That's the way she tells it, anyway. But it's good to have someone here that understands us. When I say everyone has been to her for something, I don't just mean medically. Those who don't feel comfortable confiding in their trainers come to Ursa. Despite her sharpness, there's something in her green eyes and graying brown hair that screams mother! And with that motherly air also comes the impulse to obey and respect her and what she says. Or else.

She said not to spend the night. I reason. The night's half over. Besides, if I actually can get in there, there won't be anything she can do until dawn and by then it will be too late. I wiggle my toes, feeling the wonderfully smooth fabric of the socks on my feet, and slip up to the door. Carefully press down on the handle, slowly, listen to the small latch lift inside the door and when it clicks, ease open the door just enough to slip through.

I hold it open, scanning the room quickly. Aided only by a few dim, but warm-toned lights in the room and the light spilling in from the hallways, I am able to make out three sleeping forms in the room: two trainees - one quite small, the other in their late teens judging from the size - plus Ronan in the third bed on the right side. Ursa's office door is slightly ajar and the light is off, which means she's asleep. I hold the door for a few moments, waiting for the light to come on, but after a few moments I deem it safe and carefully ease the door shut, slowly releasing the handle.

Ursa's light doesn't come on.

I half walk, half glide, across the room, careful not to rouse the two children or Ursa. But Ronan, I can see now, is awake, lying on his good side, watching me. Of course the door would've woken him up, assuming he was asleep at all. He's got it worse than I do. I smile at him and he smiles back without a word, scooting over to make room for me. I set my knife holster onto the table beside the bed as he uses his heavily bandaged arm to raise the covers for me to grab them and I ease onto the bed. It creaks just a bit and I freeze, my eyes flying to the two sleeping children across from us, but they don't stir, and neither does Ursa.

I exhale softly and throw him a relieved look. He shakes his head at me, but still smiles nonetheless. We lay with our bodies fitted together, my back to him, and his bandaged arm around me, carefully resting against my front. I put one arm around it, keeping it safe, and sigh through my nose as exhaustion finally makes itself known.

"If you actually ever start doing what you're told, I'll be terrified." he whispers, planting a kiss just below my ear, and exhales contently. "I love you."

"Shhh," I breathe. "You'll impression their minds."

He turns his head, burying his face in the pillow to muffle his quiet laughter. I smile, kissing his bicep, and snuggle a bit closer.

It feels like seconds have passed. It's one of those blissful times when no nightmares disturb me, just dreams so fleeting that all I can recall is color. Until I feel cold water hit my face. The sudden change in temperature jerks me into consciousness, followed by something hitting me on my forehead, and I leap out of bed, my body working before my mind is full awake. I see, but I don't register, I move without even understanding. The next thing I know, I have someone in a chokehold and their hands are gripping my arm and everyone in the room is completely wide awake.

The oldest trainee is on his feet, moving towards us with the obvious intent to attack. "Let go of her!"

I bare my teeth at him warningly.

"Stay back, kid!" Ronan's voice warns from behind me. The boy stops, watching us unsurely, his fists clenched.

"Dylan, relax, its okay. Let go." Ronan puts his hand on my shoulder and gently tugs. "She's not going to hurt you."

I realize the woman I'm holding is Ursa. Uh…whoops?

I let go of her and back away from her as she moves away from me, rubbing her neck. "That was entirely uncalled for, Dylan Syle!" she barks.

"Uncalled for?!" I shout. "Don't you know not to wake a victor like that?!"

"If you had done what you were told then we wouldn't have even been in this situation. I told you that you weren't allowed to spend the night."

"I arrived after midnight, so technically I came in the morning," I argue, folding my arms.

She glares at me. "Syle…"

The fight drains out of me. "I couldn't sleep," I say, my shoulders hunching. "I tried literally for hours and every time I got close I had to yank myself out of nightmares before they could really start. He was awake when I got here, anyway."

"I told you―"

"Look, we're not going to do anything, we just want to sleep. If he can't come to my room then let me stay here. It's the only way either of us can get any sleep."

"Please?" Ronan adds and I know if I look I'll see that puppy expression. "We'll behave."

Ursa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, her shark eyes glaring us down as she considered our plight. Finally after another deep inhale, she sighs loudly. "Very well, but I'm warning you…"

"Yeah, yeah, we know," I say dismissively, then I realize that most of my upper front is soaking wet and I growl. "Ugh. I'll be back, Ronan, I need to go get a change of clothes and dry off."

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," he says. I glance back and see that he got hit by the water too, and there's an empty cup on the floor.

"Did you throw a cup of water at me?"

Ursa nods, smiling.

"I thought his bandages couldn't get wet."

"I made sure not to hit his arm."

I sigh, rolling my eyes, and storm past her to the doors, shoving them open loudly. Before the doors click shut, however, I hear the little one ask, "Was that victor sleeping in your bed?"

Good luck explaining that one, Ronan.

Of course, it's only a moment later that I realize that the cat might officially be out of the bag. Of course most of the trainers and victors here knew we had a relationship beyond trainer-student after the incident, but the fact that we were actually seen sleeping in the same bed will certainly tell them how serious it is. Well damn, I didn't think about that last night.

It's not like it'll be entirely scandalous. We're only about three years apart, which is whopping when you're a teenager, but not when you get into your twenties. My parents are five years apart. There is the fact that I am, er, was one of his trainers, but I don't really see how that's much of a problem. Our time together didn't distract him. If anything, I helped him. It's hard to fight someone you love, even in a simple spar, and the fact he was able to do so excellently also gave him a bit of mental preparation in case he would've had to hurt someone he'd cared about.

Save it for Savan, I tell myself firmly and yawn.

Oh yeah, I'm going back to sleep after I get changed. I rub the sleep out of my eyes as I walk, my covered feet making tiny taps against the ground. Through a window I see that the sun is only barely over the horizon, it can't be long after six am, if even. The hallway lights are still dim. As I'm reaching the fork in the hall, one leads to the student dorms, the other to the trainer's dorms, I see Marrian and two other trainers heading for the student wing.

"Whayadoin?" I yawn involuntarily as I speak and I cover my mouth. "Sorry, what are you doing?"

"Reflex drills," she says. "You remember, of course?"

Yeah, I do. Sometimes we would be woken up without warning at any point during our sleep like we were being attacked. It was to test our reflexes, our ability to awaken quickly, and fight immediately afterwards. Comparable to what just happened with me, Ursa, and the water, actually. Oh the irony.

Marrian looks me up and down. "What are you doing, Dylan?"

"Uh, going to my room to get a new shirt?"

Marrian raises her eyebrows. "Ursa?"

"Mmhmm."

"Been in the infirmary all night, have we?"

"No. Only part of it."

She looks sympathetic. "Well, go on then, unless you want to help?"

"No thanks. I don't know if you can tell, but I'm dead on my feet now that the adrenaline is gone."

She laughs once and smiles at me fondly. Waving once, she and the trainers continue down the hall to ambush (and mentally scar) a few unlucky kids.

I manage to get to my room, opening the door and shutting it behind me. Nixie's on my bed and she wakes up when I enter, meowing in delight. The bed looks so tempting right now. I don't even want to bother with the trek back. But I'd bet my own hand I wouldn't be able to actually rest easy here, even with Nixie. She sits up, watching me as I change my shirt. I don't even dress for the day, just grab another shirt I can sleep in and throw it on. In the bathroom I brush my teeth and grab my comb my hair; then as an afterthought, I select an outfit for the day and take it with me, along with some shoes.

Nixie follows me back to the infirmary. I'm still angry at Ursa for waking me up so I don't shoo her, instead I nudge my cat inside the sterile room with my foot and shut the door behind her. Nixie immediately gets to work examining this new environment, sniffing everything she can find. I leave her to it and head over to Ronan.

The two trainees openly follow me with their eyes until I give them a firm look and they both retreat under their covers, but I know they're still watching, or at least listening. Ronan's smile is somewhat proud and somewhat amused as he pulls the blankets back for me. I set my clothes on the ground and crawl in beside him.

"What'd you tell him?" I murmur. "I heard him ask why I was here."

"I told him to mind his own damn business and that if he ever told anyone about it I'd cut his hand off, too."

I sigh. "You're horrible."

"Yeah, well." He rests his face against my hair. "I think he believed me."

"Kitty!"

The delighted gasp from across the room causes me to crane my neck. The younger trainee, who I can now tell is a girl, is sitting up, reaching for Nixie, who has jumped up to investigate. Nixie's fluffy tail flicks back and forth and she sniffs at the girl's outstretched hand. She trills out a greeting and bumps her head into the girl's hand then proceeds to let her rub her fur. I turn onto my other side so I can watch the little girl pamper my cat.

As I watch, I begin to realize why the little girl is in here. She's taking care to not move her left leg and when she does a grimace of pain twists her features for a moment. Trainees don't spend the night in here unless they have to, hence why there are only eight beds. Whatever's wrong with her leg is severe enough that she can't walk. If it's too severe, she'll be sent home as soon as she's mobile. But we're not cruel enough to cast her out now. We try to fix our mistakes. Or, well, Ursa does.

And speaking of Ursa; if she catches my cat with her patient she'll turn Nixie's pelt into a scarf.

I click my tongue a few times and Nixie turns her head, spotting me, and leaps down from the bed, bounding over to us. The little girl watches her go dejectedly. Nixie jumps onto the space between my chest and the bed and meows. Ronan starts to lift his arm to pat her, but then he must remember that he doesn't have a hand there anymore because the bandaged arm lowers in defeat. The movement does not escape Nixie's notice and she studies the wrappings with interest, leaning closer cautiously and sniffing them. She jerks back, her whiskers twitching and her nose does the feline equivalent of a wrinkle.

We both laugh quietly. I hold my hand out to Nixie who sniffs it cautiously. Deeming it safe, she bumps her head into it.

"Well, now we know who she loves most," I tease.

"Hey, no fair," he protests. I laugh quietly. Nixie rubs her head against my hand for a few more moments then she eases herself down and stretches her legs languidly, settling into a comfortable position, purring contently the whole time. Poor thing, she must've really missed us while we were at the hospital.

"Are you guys married or something?" The boy asks from across the room.

I lift my head and glare at him. "What's your name?"

"Teak."

"Teak what?"

"Andrew Teak."

"Well, Andrew Teak, if you don't keep your mouth shut, I'll make sure you have no reason to ever open it again."

"Yes, ma'am."

"That goes for you, too, little girl." I tell the other one severely, but then I let my voice soften. "But you're welcome to play with Nixie if she wanders back over there later."

That should keep them from asking questions and gossiping. It also serves to keep them quiet enough for me to fall back to sleep. Of course, what I didn't count on was people coming into the infirmary while we were asleep that morning. The sound of the door opening jerks me awake, but I don't have time to move before a trainer walks in, escorting one of his pupils. Ronan awakens just a second later and by then it's too late because they both scan the room for Ursa and their gazes linger on us.

Ursa emerges from her office. "Good morning, though if you're here, it's probably not that good."

Their attention elsewhere, I turn to look at Ronan.

"In hindsight, perhaps I should've slept on the other side."

He grimaces. "Well…it's not like a lot of them haven't figured it out by now."

"Yes, but the students don't know."

"So…then…I guess this whole secrecy thing just became moot?"

"Probably. Still, let's not openly advertise it." I mutter, my eyes narrowing at the trainee who's looking our way as Ursa examines his arm. I point to him with a single finger, lift up to my mouth in a gesture for silence, then drag it across my throat. His eyes widen. I think he gets the message.

With a satisfied smile, I shift around to get comfortable and return my head to its spot on the pillow.

The next time I awaken the sun is shining directly through the skylights. It was the door again but at least this time I feel adequately rested. Good thing, too, because that's Savan. He waves Ursa off and walks straight over to us, sitting down on the bed adjacent to ours, hands clasped in front of him.

"Sir," I wiggle my fingers at him in greeting. The movement rouses Nixie who stretches her limbs out and her jaws part in a huge yawn, then she slinks down to the foot of the bed and curls right back up. "I do believe you upset her," I say.

"Not exactly in a joking mood, Syle."

Oh crabs, not good. I kick Ronan's shin with my heel and he jerks awake, the prior noise not having roused him. "Whosandwhat?"

"Savan's here," I say.

Ronan blinks, his eyes focusing on the head of the Trials. "Oh. Good morning, sir."

"Good afternoon, actually."

"Seas, really?" I sit up. "Man, we must've really been tired."

Savan doesn't appear amused in the slightest. "You're fifteen minutes from being late for your training session with Kelli and Zal. You're training them both today, just to reestablish things."

I blink. "What?"

He gives me a severe look. "While I am quite aware of your original reasons for taking on the job and the reason behind your surprise just now, the fact remains that you are an official instructor now. You have been granted this temporary leave for both of your sakes, but he's here now and so are you. You will not be lounging around all day just because he's no longer in the program. You have a job to do. Now, get up, get dressed, and get down to the South gym. Or you can return to your room and pack your things because everyone who lives here must work and if you refuse to go now, you're refusing to work, which means you have no business being here."

I jump out of the bed, glaring at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you today?"

"You will not speak to me that way, Syle."

My hands clench into fists and I try to and respectful when I mutter, "Sorry, sir." But I end up not sounding respectful, just grumpy.

"To answer your question…you both have caused a lot of grief for me these last few weeks. The least you can do now, Syle, is make yourself useful. And you, Flit, are forbidden from leaving this ward, same as any other invalid. Food and some form of entertainment will be provided for you, but you are not to leave for anything other than an emergency."

Ronan looks ready to protest, but he gets a hold of himself before he can, and sighs. "Yes, sir, I understand. I don't like it, but…."

"Yes, well, I don't like engaging in a battle of wits and words with your mother every day."

"Er…I'm sorry?"

"You should be," he stands up, stretching his arms over his head, then turns to leave. "Thirteen minutes, Dylan," he calls over his shoulder.

The entire ward, me, Ronan, Nixie, Ursa, the trainee boy and girl, and a new older girl who wasn't in here when I went to sleep, watch him go. When the door clicks shut behind him, the little girl announces to no one in particular, "He's scary."

"Yeah, no kidding," I mutter, bending down to pick up my clothes and shoes from the floor. I kiss Ronan quickly, aware of the new girl watching us. "Give her the threat for me. I'll see you later. Love you," I add quietly.

"Change in the bathroom," Ursa says when I turn around. She gestures to the proper door with her thumb then retreats into her office. I head for the bathroom then pause, remembering something I don't have.

"Got a brush and hair tie, Ursa?"

"What do you think this is? a store?"

"Ursa, please."

She exhales loudly but I hear the sound of opening drawers and a moment later the middle-aged nurse emerges with the two items I need and tosses them to me. Catching them, I head into the bathroom and quickly change into the halter top, pants, and boots. Not the ideal training outfit, but it'll do. Some part of me must've expected something like this today, or I wouldn't have grabbed the boots this morning. I quickly brush my hair back into a simple, but firm ponytail, and splash water onto my face. Depositing the clothes by Ronan's bed, I grab my knife.

"Tell Zal I'm doing okay," Ronan says.

"I will." I smile at him, giving him another quick kiss and Nixie a soft pat on the head, then I race out of the ward.

Halfway to the South gym, my stomach rumbles in protest; I haven't eaten since yesterday. I make a quick stop by the cafeteria to grab a bottle of water and two protein bars, which I wolf down on the way there, nearly crashing into two trainers and a handful of students on the way. Panting and half-choking, I arrive at the gym with two minutes to spare according to the nearest clock. I take a long drink of water to wash down the last of the bars, then nudge the door open with my shoulder.

There are two other groups using the gym right now, a Pre-Preliminary group and a Pre-Finals group. They're using up a lot of space now, but once they notice an instructor and two to-be Tributes in the room, they'll retreat to the sides and give us the center. Kelli and Zal are already there, waiting near the wall, weaponless.

It's been nearly a year, but Zal hasn't changed much. He has a twin brother, Balor, and the last time they trained together with me, I instructed Balor to wear red and Zal to wear blue so I could tell them apart from a distance. Zal wears blue now. Old habits, I guess. His jaw seems a bit squarer, though, and his once curly reddish-brown hair is short, almost a buzz cut, but I can see hints of the curls ready to overtake his head within a few weeks.

"Miss Syle," Kelli says and they both salute. "Glad to see you're finally back." Her tone is coolly polite. In the past, I've made no attempts to hide my dislike towards her. After these last few weeks, she's probably deduced why. And I had every reason to hate her, until now. Now, I can…allow myself to like her again. Though, part of me will probably favor Zal, a former student of mine and former peer of Ronan. It's hard to just drop that kind of hatred overnight.

But I smile now, almost easily. "Thank you. I'm sorry for my coldness towards you in the past."

She looks at me, offering no sign of forgiveness, but no sign that she rejected my apology. "I understand why." She smirks. "Or, well, I do now anyway."

"Is it true?" Zal asks. "About Ronan?"

I meet his gaze evenly. "Ronan's hand was cut off, yes. That's why you're here now, didn't they tell you?"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course they told me. I meant, is it true about…you know…you and Ronan?"

I say nothing, which is almost as good as a confession.

His eyes widen. "Wow, um…wow. I mean, I knew he had a crush on you, but…wow."

"Yeah, and now he's out of the game," Kelli interrupts, "which means you don't get to just treat me that way anymore. I get that you love him, but I didn't deserve that from you. I didn't ask to be his partner. But I want to live just as much as the next tribute. I don't deserve to be brushed aside and left to die, Dylan Syle. …Ma'am."

I really did hurt her. I didn't mean to, exactly, but I didn't try not to, either. But I did brush her aside; I did want her to die. "If it were any other situation," I finally say. "I would reprimand you and you would be punished for such rude and disrespectful talk. …But I deserved that. And I am sorry, Kelli, but there can only one and to me, Ronan wins every time. He's out now so on the rare occasions I train you, you will get my full cooperation and attention, don't worry. But if you ever speak to me like that again you will be punished, even if I do deserve it. Understood?"

Kelli glares at me. "Understood," she says because she has to.

"Unless you become a victor," I add. "Then you can curse at me until you go hoarse."

The barest smile tugs at her lips.

I put my hands on my hips. "I know they assigned another instructor to you while I was busy, Kelli. Zal, what have they been doing with you? Conditioning?"

"Yes," he says. "I'd forgotten what it's like going to bed feeling like you had a bunch of urchins stuck in you."

"Did you not work out at all when you were away?" I ask.

"Well, yeah. It's ingrained. I just didn't do anything more than keeping myself at the level I'd reached. How was I supposed to know I'd be called back?" He protests.

I frown. "You…did agree to come back, didn't you? I mean, they didn't force you?"

"No," he says. "I came back of my own free will. But you know all about second chances, right Syle?" he grins.

I decide to ignore his question rather than follow it down the road it would lead to. "Glad to hear it. Do believe you are sufficiently conditioned?"

"I think so."

"A mile in under five minutes?"

"Ninety-seven seconds approximately, as of this morning."

I nod, impressed at how quickly he adapted. "Today is the only day you two will be together, tomorrow your normal schedules will resume. Zal, I assume you will be following Ronan's old schedule, which means you will be with me every other day. Do you have your own running partner?"

"Yes," Zal says, then grins, "They said you wouldn't want that job."

"They were correct. By the way, Ronan says hello.." I look at the clock. "I suppose I have to have you both do something today. I didn't exactly have time to plan anything; Savan woke me up twenty minutes ago and told me to get my ass down here." I fold my arms and they both laugh quietly. "…I guess we'll just spar a few times. Go get armed with your main weapon and pull those Shield Skins down as far as they'll go."

"Nervous?"Zal asks.

"No, I just don't want to deal with another set of angry parents that hate me."

"That's rough," Kelli notes as she and Zal head for the closet to collect their Skins.

I follow behind them, doing some quick routine stretches as I go. Damn Savan for not waking me up sooner. We change into the Skins in the bathrooms, collect our weapons, a whistle and head back out to the sparring floor in the center of the gym. Sure enough, the two groups have shifted around to give us room. Kelli and Zal wait, her with her nunchaku and him with his bow and quiver, for me to decide my opponent.

"Zal first." I say, beckoning to him. Kelli's face falls just a bit and Zal steps forward, knocks an arrow, and stands at the edge of the ring. "Feel free to any use fancy tricks." I tell him. "You're tribute now. Fight like you plan to in the arena. Just don't kill me—we'll do fighting to kill later. Right now, just get me down."

Zal nods, his face serious.

I put the whistle into my mouth, holding it there in my teeth. Pulling two knives from my belt and holding them at the ready, I slide my body forward, ready to go. We stare each other down, waiting. Then I send a burst of air into the whistle and it screams. Letting it fall from my mouth against my chest, I flip to the side to avoid an arrow, twisting in mid-air, and let the knives fly.

One of them hits his arm, the other is knocked away by an arrow. I land and rearm myself, in time to see him loading two arrows simultaneously.

I smirk. _This should be interesting._

* * *

**I never officially gave Kelli a weapon, I realized. So she's a nunchaku girl, also known as "nunchucks" **

**Guys, I understand you love my story, but don't message me demanding I update once I start college, even if it's been a month or two. I know what it's going to be like - I've taken classes at Ivy Tech and my mother just graduated college last year, as well - so I know that between schoolwork and my audio projects, I won't have a lot of free time for writing. But I will not just drop this story - I've put too much time and effort into it. Chapters might just be a little more spaced.**

**Speaking of my audio projects, check out WintermothStudios on youtube :) See what I do besides write.**

Now review. Nixie likes reviews.


	36. Slum

**Did you guys see who they cast as Finnick?! Sam Claflin. Look up imhappyplz on Deviantart and you will see my face when I found out.  
Anyone seen the fourth Pirates movie? He's Phillip - aka the guy who fell in love with the mermaid. ...Anyone else seeing the humor there...? Well, anyway, posting this chapter today in honor of the casting! And, just so you know, this chapter has absolutely nothing to do with Finnick :D He's mentioned like...once. **

**College has officially started. And, since they say everyone will say this once in their first week, imma just gonna say it now. What the hell have I gotten myself into x-x I love history, but I can tell my history class is gonna be a bitch. Love my TCOM101 professor - Dr. Mike. He funny :D **

**There's a guy on campus. No one knows who he is. He shows up every Friday, running and riding around on a scooter, wearing a solid blue onesy with goggles, a cape, a helmet, and shirt/shorts - shouting "HAPPY FRIDAY!" ...then disappears. ... And on Fridays, a group lingers around the Scramble Light and gives out FREE HUGS!**

**And today during Math class, I got bored and drew Nightwing finger stripes on my hand. I was listening to the professor, I promise. **

* * *

"Wait."

"Don't be scared."

"It's gonna hurt…"

"You'll be fine."

"Maybe we should wait…"

I cuff him over the head. "Just sit still so you can get it over with."

"But, but…"

I glance at Ursa who has an amused look on her face, her arms folded across her chest, and a pair scissors grasped tightly in one hand. Ronan's been in the surgery cast for several weeks now and it's coming off this morning. She just woke us up for it.

"Ronan, you've got to suck it up. You were going to be a tribute in the Hunger Games. You can handle a little pain. Now hold your arm out or I'll go get Finnick and Beril and we'll _make _you."

Ronan gives me a wounded puppy look, the cast tucked securely under his arm. He's been used to coddling his arm for the last month, learning to do things one-handed and all but snarling at anyone who tried to touch his right arm. Well, everyone except me and Ursa. He's afraid it's going to hurt when they cut the cast off, I think. He's been living in the infirmary this whole time and I'm the one visiting his room nowadays.

"That won't be necessary," Ursa says, bringing me back to the matter at hand. Literally. "Ronan's going to behave and let me do my job or I'm going to start telling you about some embarrassing injuries he got when he was younger. Like the one on the swinging bars…"

Ronan's eyes widen at the reminder of her incredible memory. "You wouldn't."

"I will."

Ronan grumbles something I can't make out, throwing her a mutinous look, but slowly pulls his arm out and holds it up. Ursa smiles, unfolds her arms, and carefully starts to snip away at the cast, cutting and peeling away layers of fabric, gauze, and stuff I can't even name and tosses them into the trash by the bed. The more she removes, the more Ronan trembles. She kicks his leg and tells him to sit still and for a moment, he is, then she starts working and the tiny shakes resume. His remaining hand which is resting between us, holds onto my hand for dear life, squeezing the feeling out of it, but he's not in pain, I can tell. He's just…

Scared.

I realize that when he closes his eyes and looks away from both of us and his arm and the trash can. Ursa, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort, continues to snip away at the wrappings hiding his arm from the world. When the last of the cast has fallen away and she is peeling a layer of gauze stained with dry blood from the stump of his arm, he goes still and I realize I've been holding my breath. Suddenly I, too, am unable to look. I stare at my knees intently.

"Well, it's recovering nicely. Those stitches should fall out in a few days, now. Once they're out, you can resume your normal activities. I'll be right back with some alcohol wipes."

She leaves and neither of us move. I have to be brave for him. I'm the victor; I'm the one who's survived hell. Slowly, I look up at the stump that is now his arm, still held aloft. I swallow at the sight of the two horrid rows of thick black stitches holding the flesh closed to heal. My stomach flips and tears well up. I blink them away quickly and take a deep breath of air.

"Ronan?"

I want throw up. I want to cry.

"Ronan."

I have to be brave.

"Ronan, you have to look."

"N-no!" he says. "N-no, I…I…d-don't…I can't…I…I w-won't…"

I remove my hand from his and carefully place it on his right forearm, a few inches from the end.

"How bad is it?"

"Well, Ronan, I don't know how to say this, but it appears you're missing a hand."

Ronan exhales something that sounds like a laugh and his head turns forward, but his eyes are clamped shut. "Really? I hadn't noticed. …I can still feel it, sort of. Sense it. If I don't look, I can pretend it's still there. Please, just let me feel normal for a few more moments."

I reach up and gently touch his cheek just under his eyes. "Ronan," I murmur. "Just remember, you will always have me." _Be strong, be strong_.

Ronan takes a deep, shuddering breath then slowly opens his eyes. I feel his body tense next to mine as he stares at the horrid stump that is the end of his right arm. Then he begins to shake, his breaths coming in quick gasps. He looks at me, tears, pain, and fear so clear in his green eyes that tears begin to well up in mine as well. "It's gone," he croaks,. "It's _gone_…"

I swallow past the lump in my throat.

"It's gone, it's gone!" he repeats, his voice growing slightly more frantic.

His stump-ended arm is shaking when he throws his good one around me, crushing me close and I hold him as he trembles and cries. He holds my lower back with his right forearm, carefully keeping the end off my body. I run my hands through his hair, up and down his back, murmuring to him while tears trickle down my own cheeks.

"It's not there."

"I know."

"My hand…it's just…"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, I'm _so _sorry."

"You've still got one good hand, Flit." Ursa inturrupts in her no-nonsense voice, walking towards the bed with a sling and wrap and alcohol wipes. "Don't go moanin' over the one that's gone, get up and get used to your new life. You're nothing but deadweight if you don't. Dylan doesn't want a deadweight, does she?"

"Of course I want him, but, Ronan...I can't just–"

"There, you hear her?" Ursa stands over us. "Don't you dare expect her to just carry you along because you've lost your hand. It's your right hand, boy, and if memory serves, you're primarily left-handed. It's not the end of the world. You've fallen, now get off your ass and get back into the fight."

"I _can't_," Ronan says brokenly. "Don't you get it? I fight with both hands. I can't fight with just one."

"Well if fighting means that much to you then you'd better learn how!" Ursa swats his arm. "Arco and Zaire did."

"They got those fake things."

"So? You think they're just like normal body parts? No, they had to adapt, too. Get off your ass, boy. …I mean it. Stop snuggling and stand up."

Ronan looks down at me and I lean away, dropping my arms giving him a '_you better do as she says'_look. He lets go of me and stands up. Ursa grabs his arm, though gently, and holds it right up to his face. "Take a good look at it, boy. That's what you're living with for the rest of your life. Best get that through your head right now and then get on with it! I'm serious, look at it."

Ronan does, and struggles to swallow for a moment. His left hand is clenched into a shaking fist. She lets go of his arm and as he starts to hold it to his chest protectively like he always does, she lashes out to strike him in the face. He brings the arm back up reflexively, blocking her hit with his forearm and his hand comes up to punch her in the face, only to be caught by her other hand. It all happens so fast I almost missed it. They remain that way for a moment, poised to fight, then Ursa smiles and lowers her arms.

Ursa smiles, "See? You're not helpless." She says as he stares at his arm in shock. "No, things won't be the same as before, but you'll learn. Now, put on your big boy pants and hold out your arm so I can wrap it, I've got a fresh sling, and then I'll get you some pain medicine because I imagine that process hurt quite a bit."

He nods and holds out his arm to her, noticeably calmer than before. Sometimes you really do just need to be slapped, or almost slapped, to get some sense into you. I couldn't have done that for him and I'm glad we have people like Ursa around to keep our heads on straight. A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch her carefully clean the dried blood and Posiedon-knows-what-else from his arm. He winces when she dabs around the stitches but doesn't complain beyond a small hiss. She carefully wraps his wrist with a thin bandage and slips his arm through the new sling.

"Go easy on it, today. You don't have to stay here but remember, if it starts bleeding, get your butt back here immediately," Ursa says.

"Yes, ma'am."

Ursa looks at me. "If he starts giving you hell, you be sure and let me know. I'll straighten him out for you. You're too easy on him."

"No, she's really not," Ronan says.

Ursa just grunts, giving him a doubtful look, then shuffles off towards her office. Ronan stands there, taking a few deep breaths, then slides his arm out of the sling, wearing it near his shoulder like a sheath.

"Just in case I need it." He tells me.

I smile. "So, what do you want to do today? Now that you're not confined to the room…"

Ronan scrunches his mount up, thinking. "Maybe…we could go see my parents?"

"Uh, Ronan…they don't like me."

"They don't really know you. And, from what you told me, you were all stressed to the max when you met and you've only seen each other to argue over me. How about a do-over? Meet them properly and everything."

"Um…I don't know if that's a good—"

"It would really mean a lot to me."

"But—"

"Pleeeaaassseeee?" He gives me that damned puppy look.

"Okay, fine. Fine." I stand up. "Why don't you try to get into a shirt that's not an infirmary one and I'll get something that's not, you know, hanging off my shoulders." I shrug back into the baggy shirt I slept in.

"Um…"

"I'll meet you in your room and help you into it." I promise, kissing his cheek. We walk to the dorms together, his arm around my shoulders. When we reach the fork between the trainer and student dorms he kisses me right out in the open then heads for his room, which hasn't been used since his injury.

To heck with secrecy, the only ones who don't know about us now are the new recruits. It's kind of blown my supposed relationship with Finnick out the window, but I don't really care right now.

In my room, I throw on a nice pair of capris and a sleeveless light blue tunic and a pair of tan shin-high boots, since I know the roads of Gull Cove are mostly unpaved and uneven. I put on a necklace and tuck a holster around my waist and one near my bra under the shirt. Cove can be a bit dodgy, Ronan says, and with what I'm wearing, I look like I have money to spare. A rich girl and a wounded boy could be considered easy pickings. I'm not going to get mugged.

Damn, I can't believe I'm doing this. I've spent the last month trying to avoid them.

I take a few minutes to give Nixie some much-needed attention, grab my satchel, then head out into the hallway. As I'm heading into the student dorms, a chorus of giggles makes me lift my head up and groan quietly.

It's group of four Pre-Finals girls, several of them are up this year, that like to hang out together, plus a guy they added to the group recently. I swear, one day all of them will be Hooks. Hooks are women who generally hang out in the shadier parts of towns and can be acquired for the night for money. These four girls like to push the dress code to its limit. As for the guy, well, there's not much to say about him, except he has hair so blonde it's practically white and violates the segregation rules every damn day.

This is the group that really got the rumors about Fin and me going two years ago. My open relationship with Ronan has given them something to really talk about besides whether or not Finnick and I have one the deed and how many times. …Of course, they're still talking about that, but now they've replaced Fin with Ron in those talks. And here I am, heading straight for the boy's dorms.

I walk with my head high, pretending I don't even notice, until I get close enough to see that three of them are pushing the dress code. Good, I need to vent.

"You, you and you," I bark. "Go put some actual _clothes_ on or you'll spend the next few weeks training completely naked. And if I ever see any of you wearing something like that again, you'll _all_ train the same way. Is that understood?"

They look flabbergasted for a moment, then angry. If I wasn't a trainer and a victor, I have no doubt that I'd be in for it. "Is that understood?" I snap.

"Yes, ma'am," they say.

"Good. Your dorm is that way." I point. "Get going."

I wait until the three girls head back the way they came, then glare at the remaining girl and the boy. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Move!" I walk away feeling a little calmer.

When I get to Ronan's room I find him struggling to get his shirt on. I help him feed his arm through the sleeve of the gray shirt he selected but stand back so he can adjust it himself. His brow furrows in concentration as he tries to use one hand to pull the hem down and smooth the wrinkles, then pull the sling on. Soon he'll learn to do it all on his own, but until then, I'll help him. He's stood by me for months, been my rock, and now it's my turn. He turns and spreads his arms out.

"Well?"

"Good job. You ready?"

He nods. "You?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Come on," he chuckles. "It's going to take us a few hours to walk there."

"No, we'll take a fare car."

"We can't take it the whole way. The road gets bad about a mile before Cove. Sera told me the car wouldn't go any further. Something about the tires getting popped."

"Well, one mile is better than twenty."

"Good point."

What would've taken us three or four hours on foot, not counting the breaks we'd need to take for him, took just under an hour in the fare car. I tell the driver to be back here around seven and to wait for us in case we're late, promising to pay him extra for it. On the way, he'd asked what had happened to Ronan and we'd told him and why were going to the Cove now.

"This money ain't needed for him, is it?" The driver asked, not taking the money I'd held out to pay him with.

"No," I say. "I have enough."

"Alright, then," he took the money. "I'll be back at seven."

"Thank you, sir."

He nods. "Miss."

The mile walk into Gull Cove does not take very long, and I can smell the place before I see it. It isn't as bad as the docks could be on a hot day or like District 10, but it has a definite stink to it. The sky is clear and the sun is warm, but below them, the buildings are dingy. It reminds me of District 12 and I imagine that, if I look for it, the worst part of town looks like the worst part of 12. I can't imagine growing up here and I do not envy those who did.

Ronan sighs. "Home sweet home," he says somewhat sarcastically then smiles at me. "Don't worry, I could never live here again. My home is where you are."

I kiss his cheek. "Same. Come on, let's do this."

I let Ronan lead me through the town he grew up in. He navigates the streets with the familiar ease I have in Crest. He points out stores he liked to look in, places he used to play or meet friends, or places where friends live or lived, but he doesn't want to go near them.

"Why?"

"I don't want them to see." He mumbles. And I notice he's hiding his arm in the sling.

"Okay," I say and we head away. We end up in a slightly nicer place in town. He says it's not wear the best live, more like something in the middle. The house Ronan grew up in has three bedrooms a kitchen a living room, a cellar, and an open room that they use for the workshop.

"Most homes only have two bedrooms if they're lucky and then a slightly bigger room for a kitchen, living room, or whatever. We were able to add on another room when Sera was born because we make decent money."

I stare at the house, stunned. It's only a fraction of the size the home I grew up in…and it's considered large for Gull Cove? And here I thought everyone in District 4 was well off. Maybe this is one reason why so many children are willing to go to the arena.

I can hear the sound of a saw running from the garage-like room that must be Adrion's workshop.

"Dad and Sera are probably working," he says, following my gaze. "Come on, meet my family."

"Are you sure I'm dressed alright?" I ask nervously.

"You look beautiful."

"Is it too much, though? I mean…people are _staring_…" I glance around. He looks around, making eye contact with the small groups of people who've stopped to look at the young couple who are obviously from other parts with our nice clothes.

"Don't mind them," he says. "Come on." He loops his good arm around my shoulders and leads me towards the workshop. The sound of the saw stops for a moment, Adrion barks what sounds like an order at someone, probably Sera, then the saw picks back up. We stop in the doorway and wait to be noticed and I look around the workshop.

It's about the size of my room, four windows and the main door open to let in fresh air and the door that must lead into the house is closed. Shelves and counters full of tools line the back wall, finished products sit on the floor or on shelves near the front. The rest of the room seems to be where the work is done. Two half-finished chairs sit off to the side. In the middle of the room, Sera and Adrion are kneeling next to a nearly finished table, wearing work clothes. Adrion is busy straightening the edges with the tool that sounds like a saw and Sera, her short red hair pinned back from her face, is carving designs into the sides of the table.

Adrion turns the tool off and wipes sweat from his forehead, pushing the goggles from his face. "How's it coming?"

"Remind me to never try to do fish scales this small again," she grumbles.

He chuckles. "Hang in there."

"Why can't you have smaller hands?" Sera whines.

"Oh stop complaining and get back to it."

Sera sticks her tongue out at him. "You stopped working first."

"It's a miracle you two get anything done with the way you bicker," Ronan says loudly. His father and sister start in surprise and Sera turns.

"Ronny!" she gasps.

"Ronny?" I grin at him. Ronan makes a face.

"Hey, sissy."

Sera jumps up and runs towards him, arms wide. I duck out from under his arm so he can hug her. Adrion calls through the door for Bree then walks over to his son. I start to back away, but Ronan lets go of Sera and puts his hand on my shoulder to stop me. He gives me an encouraging smile and pulls me back to his side. Sera blinks up at me in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" Adrion asks before Sera can.

"Ronan!" Bree practically flies into the workshop and throws her arms around her son's shoulders.

Ronan kisses his mother on the forehead. "Hey, Momma."

"What are you doing here?" Adrion repeats.

"Mom, Dad, I want you to meet Dylan Syle." Ronan says. "She's victor of the 69th Hunger Games, one of my trainers, and she's my girlfriend. We've been friends for over a year and together for just a few months less. We didn't want a lot of people knowing and that's why I never told you."

I admire his ease. I swallow and smile at them, trying to conceal my nervousness behind a confident grin, and salute, placing one fist over my heart and the other behind my back. It symbolizes respect and loyalty (or at least compliance) to another. I can see this honestly surprises them.

"Hello," I say. "Nice to meet you."

Their expressions are priceless, really. The whole time they've known me, they've only seen my mean side, the victor. They've never met _Dylan_.

"What is this?" Adrion demands.

I cock my head to one side, trying to look innocently confused.

"Do you have multiple personalities or something?" Sera asks, characteristically blunt.

Well, so much for that, then. I frown at Ronan. "There, see? I _told _you this wasn't a good idea. I'll just go down to the cove with the birds where at least I'll be welcome—" I turn to leave, but Ronan grabs my shoulder again.

"Oh no you don't, get back over here. You are not going off on your own around here."

I try, halfheartedly, to jerk my arm free. But I'm glad to see his protectiveness has resurfaced. "I can handle myself."

Ronan looks at me flatly, then turns to his family. "Momma, Dad, I love you, but if she goes, I'm going too."

"No one said either of you had to go," Bree says placidly.

"I'm just telling you right now." Ronan says. "We came here so you could get to know her, because if you're going to be a part of my life, you're going to have to get used to her. She's really not that bad when she's not pissed off at you."

"'Not that bad?' Thaaaaannnks," I mutter.

"So, can we come in?" Ronan asks.

Bree and Adrion exchange a long look while Sera blinks at me a few times, then looks down at my hands.

"Hey, your hands are small."

"No they're not," I say defensively.

"They're smaller than Dad's." she says and tosses the carving knife at me. I reach up and catch it reflexively, twirling it between my fingers. Recalling the conversation we walked in on, I realize where this is going. And if this is going to get me into Sera's good graces then I'll bite.

"They have to be," I say. "Big hands, no matter how dexterous, are better for swords and daggers than knives if they want to do anything besides throw them. Ronan's hands are pretty slim and he's ambidextrous, that's why he can work with dual swords. Er, I mean, that's why he could." I glance up at him apologetically.

"But anyway, Sera, I saw how you were holding the knife. If you want to carve something that small, you need to hold it differently. Here, let me show you." I walk past them into the shop and kneel down by the table where she was just working. The designs really are tiny, I can see why she was complaining, though why they'd bother with scales on fish that small, even just the wavy line kind that I see, is beyond me. No one around here could be paying them enough.

Showing her how to hold it, I carefully slice two tiny waves into the wood, finishing off that fish. "There, look."

Sera kneels beside me and studies my handiwork. "Is your Dad a carpenter?"

"No, a fisherman." I say. "And Mom's a seamstress." But what I don't mention is that Ronan and I have actually done a few carving projects together. The first time, something simple: a cog. A better one than the one I made in the arena. Then a fish and a cat.

"You're good."

"It was a hobby of mine," I say, "When I was growing up in the training complex, but never really anything this small. Why bother?"

"Well, people around here, they don't get the nice fancy things like you have in your house." Sera says with a hint of bitterness. "They're too expensive. So, we try to make the things we sell as nice as possible so they don't always have to settle for less."

I swallow back the cutting retort I feel rising up and turn back to the wood and start carving scales onto the next fish. "I grew up in Crest," I finally say quietly. "In a house that has been passed down through the family since it was built at the beginning of District 4, so has most of the furniture in it." I pick out a bit of wood wedged in there with my fingertips and brush it away, going back to carving. "We only have it because, in those days, my family was rich. That money was long gone by the time I was born. I've had to settle for less many times throughout my life. Mom didn't always have work; she mostly took care of us kids. Dad worked and so did Luke, once he was old enough. I did, too, until I was ten, but I made only a fraction of what this table costs in a week. And then after the Trials when I worked full-time, we had two more mouths to feed. We always had enough to get by, but no more."

I inspect the fish to make sure the scales look right. Satisfied, I move onto the next one. "That fancy house? I only have it because I was a victor, remember? I was just as shocked as you were when I saw it for the first time and realized that it was going to be my home. But think of what I had to do to get it. Killed kids who didn't deserve it, lost two people I held dear…had to kill someone who had become my friend…" I stop carving. "I'm Dylan, nice to meet you, Sera."

"Nice to meet you, too," she says. "You're a good carver."

I smile.

"Let me see that," Adrion rumbles behind us. I tense for a moment, not having noticed his approach, and relax, moving backwards so he can inspect my handiwork. I watch his eyes, the same exact shade of Ronan's, flick across the wood, and he slowly nods. "Not bad. For an amateur."

Was that a compliment? I glance at Ronan who gives me a thumbs up and nods behind his mother's back.

Inside the house, we sit around a table that Ronan says was made by his great, great, great grandfather in the days before the rebellion. Something this old and this beautiful, if they tried to sell it somewhere richer, would bring them enough money for at least year of no work. But they won't get rid of it, not for anything. It is too precious to them to be worth the money they would receive.

We came just at the right time, Bree had almost finished lunch for Adrion and Sera and it didn't take her long to make something up for Ronan and me. It's nothing fancy, just fried salmon, but she's added so many spices and flavoring to it that it actually tastes pretty darn good. I make sure to tell her this and it earns me a smile.

"Are you really here just for this?" Adrion asks skeptically.

"Yes," I say.

"It was my idea," Ronan says. "She was ready to just avoid you."

"Hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. And if you can't join 'em, run the hell away." I say. "That's what they taught us."

"That's for the arena, gill-brain." Ronan says fondly, nudging me with his shoulder. I shrug.

"So he made you come?" Adrion asks.

"No," I say. "If I didn't want to come, he wouldn't have been able to get me out of the room. Nor would I have paid for the ride here."

"You seem to like flaunting your money." Sera says.

"I don't _like _to. I almost never use my money, anyway." I say. "Almost everything I need I can get at the training center and the only other person I've had to really spend money on is Finnick, and that's only because he gives all his money to my parents to help take care of Annie, even though she has her own winnings."

"So you've got all this money just…sitting there?" Bree asks. "Waiting?"

"Pretty much. Of course, a nice hunk of it was spent recently."

"Why don't you put the money to good use?" Bree asks.

"Well, it depends on what you consider 'good use' Mrs. Flit. I consider saving Ronan's life good use…but if you don't…"

"Well, obviously I think that's good, but I meant on a larger scale. You've seen this place. You've seen our house and we live better than most. Some people spend the nights in abandoned houses because they don't have their own. Some of those things can't even be considered houses."

"Believe it or not, this place isn't as bad as District 11. If you want to see a dump, you should go there."

"You can't help them, but you can help us."

"What would you have me do? Walk out into the open and shout 'Hey everyone! Free money!'? Because let me tell you, that won't go down as well as you hope. I can fight, I can kill, but I can't fight off a mob like the one that will cause."

"You could give it to people like the apothecary or the baker. If they had more money, they could sell for less."

"Or they could use the money to make themselves better off." I say. "I can't help everyone."

"But if all the victors donated…"

"We could help Cove, maybe, but what about the other places?" I shake my head. "Besides, victor funding is what keeps the training center going. They probably use some of my money, too, now that I think about it. Besides, some of the victors don't care enough to even consider something like this. They only care about themselves, their families if they're still around, the other victors, and training new tributes."

"But why?" Bree asks. "If you all tried, you could make things better. If all the victors in all the districts tried…Maybe things could be…could be…"

"And at the end of the day, we still have to ship kids off to the arena." I shrug. "We're not heroes. We're victors. It's not our job to save anyone but ourselves."

"But you saved my son." Bree said. "And…I haven't thanked you for that yet."

"No, you haven't." I say matter-of-factly and take another bite of the fish. "But you didn't have to, I could tell. This _is _really good, by the way." Swallowing, I add, "Much better than some of the stuff they serve in the cafeteria."

After lunch, we remain seated around the table. They don't have a living room, and I feel horrible after asking if we could go in there, like some spoilt rich kid. I've always known Gull Cove existed, and that it was supposed to be a dump, but actually being here and _seeing _it, I understand why our trainees from Gull Cove are so determined to win money for their families. Had I been raised here, nothing would've stopped me from getting us out. But Ronan's family chooses to remain here. I know Adrion's work helps people, but why don't they think about themselves for a change? Allies can help you, but in the end, only you can win the Game for yourself.

"So, since this is supposed to be a do-over and everything, what do you want to know?" I ask.

"How old are you?" Sera blurts.

"Twenty, I'll be twenty-one in a few months."

"Oldie."

"Shorty."

She blew a raspberry at me.

"What's _your_family like?"

"Well, erm…hardly a family anymore. I've had four brothers and sisters. My older sister, Rilee, died in the arena when I was five, or so; my older brother is alive and married, but we don't exactly get along; and my younger brother and sister die—" I stop abruptly, take a deep breath, and exhale slowly. I can't lie this time. I can't. "They were murdered…by the Capitol…because I won the Hunger Games."

Bree gasps, Sera's mouth falls open, and even Adrion sucks in a sharp breath.

"Why?" Bree asks. "Why would anyone, even the Capitol—"

"Do you remember my Games?"

"Not like you do, I'm sure."

"They made us all have allies."

"Yes."

"My ally, Garret Kollin." It's been nearly three and a half years, but still, saying his name brings his adorable boyish face to mind and my heart hurts. "When he died, I should have, too. Pisces should have killed me, or should have let Fleece kill me. But he spared my life because I saved his a long time ago…and because we were friends. But because that happened, I basically ruined a lot of the plans they had. So they punished me by hurting those I love. That's how the Capitol operates. You defy them, they kill someone you love."

"And that's why you never wanted anyone to know about my son." Adrion says, finally understanding.

I nod.

The silence that follows is uncomfortable. I can tell that they want to say something but no one has any idea what to. But it's alright—I want them to know me, but I don't expect them to understand everything.

"Should we go on to a happier subject?" I ask.

"Please," Sera says. "Um…lemmie think…oh! How did you guys meet?"

"Well, just over a year ago, I was asked to train his group how to survive against a long-distance combatant in a variety of situations. Basically, I had to teach them to survive a fight against someone who will be attacking from afar. We didn't want any repeats of what happened with Rosalinda—the girl from 9 in the 60th Games with a crossbow. I was walking down the line, you know, trying to see what I had to work with, and I remembered him from the reaping."

"I nearly had a heart attack that day," Bree mutters.

Ronan snorts.

"Well, it's a good thing he didn't go." I say. "What happened to Seaborne Kip was…"

I see it again, as if it were on the screen in front of me. The girl from seven flying at him, the axe imbedding itself in his throat…his head flying towards Annie. I shudder and hunch my shoulders.

"Horrific, terrible, and gory." Sera supplies.

"Your straightforwardness is quite refreshing," I say.

"It is until you live with her." Ronan mutters.

"Well, back to the story. I recognized him from the reaping and said so. Then we went out for training," I shrug. "He was one of the quickest ones to learn my fighting style. Nothing really happened until the next free day, then he found me on the beach and I bought him some ice cream."

"Aww," Sera says. "I can just see it, you two walking down the street munching on ice cream cones. …I want an ice cream." She adds as an afterthought.

"Is there any around here?" I ask. "I can get you one."

"Really?" she asks, eyes wide.

"Yeah, sure. I don't mind, really."

"That's something you can do," Bree says. "Some way to help."

"Get Sera ice cream?"

"There _is _an ice cream store on the other side of town. It mostly serves the wealthier. We've been there once or twice. But some children around here have never even tasted it."

"I do have money with me," I say, thinking about the smaller street urchins I saw on our way here. "But not enough to buy all of them ice cream. Some other day, though, and I might even bring Annie and Finnick along. Annie loves children."

Bree smiles and I think, finally, I have earned her respect.

"But Sera, if you want an ice cream today, that I can do." I say.

"Woo!" Sera jumps to her feet and runs out the back door, like she was six instead of sixteen.

"I guess that's a yes." I glance at the clock on the wall. "We've got plenty of time."

"You're not going alone," Ronan stands up.

"Of course not, gill-brain." I stand up, stretching my arms over my head, as Sera pokes her head in the window.

"Come _on_!"

"Hold your seahorses!" I say. She sighs and disappears. "Do you two want to come?"

Adrion glances in the direction of his workshop. "I have work to do."

"The table can wait." Bree says.

"I have a deadline."

"Fine! Go lock yourself up, then!" Bree says loftily and stands up. "I, however, miss the taste of ice cream and am not about to say no if it's being offered."

_That's right. You grew up in Sunrise._Bree went from the best place in the district, with the exception of the Village, to the worst. I can understand why she feels such sympathy for the people here, now. I would, too. I wonder what other kinds of things she's missed since coming here.

I feel the unseen eyes on us as we walk through the unkempt streets of Gull Cove—four red-haired people, smiling, two clean and wearing nice clothes, one in a sling, and one with a scarred face, walking along in the dirtiest part of the district. It's like Ronan said: why wouldn't they stare? One toddler, I can't tell if it's a boy or girl, actually hobbles over to us

"E'scuse me, but your heads are on fire."

It was adorable.

Walking becomes a game in itself, leaping over the large cracks and holes scattered across the way. I show off my nimbleness by leaping and twisting among a patch of road with so many cracks and holes that there's no way any wheels could cross it. My feet land on the smallest smooth sections for a moment, then leap off to another, pretending that the cracks were great chasms filled with sharks like I would've as a kid. I land, poised on my toes at the edge of the danger, then laugh and straighten, spinning around and posing triumphantly.

Ronan and Sera laugh, applauding: Sera the normal way, and Ronan by slapping his hand against his upper arm. But neither of them, not even my agile boyfriend, can manage it. Bree doesn't even try.

About halfway there, Adrion simply seems to materialize next to us. One second it's just the four of us, the next he's got his arm around Bree's waist and he's asking, "Can I get mine on one of those crispy things this time?"

Ronan and I walk together, me tucked comfortably under his shoulder. "Do you think they like me?" I whisper.

"Sera does—whatever you said to her seemed to work—and my parents seem to respect you, at least. Though, you really buttered her up with those cooking compliments."

I giggle.

"Hurry up!" Sera cries impatiently and darts ahead of us into the store.

* * *

**So, we've got two chapters left before someone starts to fuck everything up. Why? Well...there has to be some reason District 4 was one of the first to rebel. :3**


	37. Steps

**Sorry for the long wait guys ^_^ **

**I'm 18 now. Whoohoo! I can do what I want! I dyed part of my hair purple and blue. And I am now a Doctor Who fan. I probably will go hunting for the Old episodes soon.**

**Just so you know, I'm going back and editing the earlier chapters. I've done 1 - 3 so far. You should read them. They're much better.**

******And Kazz? Yes, I know. I am mean. But now you can read the rest of that scene ^_^ **

* * *

When I walk into the ice cream store, I know immediately that things will not be same as at home. Unlike in the Village, the man behind the counter does not know me; does not smile and immediately ready a scooper when he saw customers walk in. Instead he regards us with something akin to disdain and snaps, "No free eats."

Bree and Adrion were outside talking, maybe about me, but I doubt we'd have gotten this kind of welcome if they'd come in with us. But the man wasn't done. "And if you try to swipe anything, I'll lock you in the freezer."

_Well aren't you pleasant?_He must get all kinds of kids coming in here hoping to con him out of a cone if that's how he greets his customers. Two teenagers and one who looks like a teenager, dusty from the walk and covered in sawdust, in Sera's case, with no adults and no money clutched in our hands. But I still don't like it.

"Good to know," I say coolly, scanning the walls. "Though, it's hard to know what things cost if we can't see any prices."

"You better not be wasting my time," the man warns.

Sera blinks and decides to inform him, "you're mean."

"Are you rude to all your customers?" I ask. "Because you know, I have absolutely no problem going home to get ice cream for her and taking my money with me."

"But that'll take forever," Sera grumbles. I turn my head so the man can't see and wink at her.

"Er, no," the man says quickly, "My apologies."

"Hmm, what do you want?"

Sera presses her face to the glass like someone half her age would, looking at the array of colors and names. Ronan hangs back with me, watching her. "You know what I want."

I leaned in close, setting my hand on his back. "Me?"

Ronan chuckles, "No, yes, but here ice cream."

"Strawberry, then?"

"Of course."

The door opens and I know without looking that it's Adrion and Bree. "No free eats!" The man says. I step away from Ronan and get a look at their affronted faces. "Are these yours?"

"These are my kids, yes." Bree says.

"So, what do you want, Sera?" I ask. I get them each the biggest size cone for their ice cream, make sure they taste right, and even then it barely makes a dent in the amount I brought. I dig the money out of my bag, the man's eyes bug out of his head when he sees the wad of bills.

As we're about to leave, I remember what I'd told Bree and I turn around, walking back to the counter. "Oh, by the way, I'll be coming back in two weeks and buying everything you have in stock."

The man blinks. "I…sorry?"

"I am going to buy everything you have in stock," I say slowly. "And give it to the kids around here."

The man blinks again. "Uh…um…well that's…"

"I'm just giving you a warning so you'll be ready when we show up. I'll probably have two friends with me, too. Tell your boss or whoever owns the place. …You might want to write it down."

The man nods quickly, seeming dazed, grabbing a pen and paper from somewhere behind the counter.

"And your name is…?" he asks.

"Dylan Syle, I live in Victor's Village."

Then pen stops moving and his gaze flicks up to me in disbelief. "That ain't even funny."

"I'm not laughing."

"Salty seas…are you serious?"

I arch my eyebrows and say nothing.

The man blinks a few times, considering me, and then sighs. "Alright, but if you're lying—"

"Do you have a phone around here? Would you like for me to give you a number you can reach me at?" I ask.

"That would help. Dad won't believe this unless he hears it himself."

I told him the number. "That's the number to my parent's house. I'll let them know as soon as I can. I probably won't be able to come to the phone right then and there, though. Have whoever answers take a message and give them a chance to come find me.'

He nods, still scribbling. "Alright, and…you are prepared to cover the cost?"

"Money is no obstacle."

I think he flinches. "Right."

We leave the shop a few minutes later loaded up with our ice creams, and head back towards the Flit house. Once again, Sera leads the way, Bree and Adrion walk behind us, and Ronan walks alongside me. If I sensed eyes on us before, I can _feel_ them now. Greedy eyes follow us, eyes locked on the treats we hold, probably wondering if it's worth the risk of trying to steal them from us. And I feel even better about what I'll be doing, soon.

"Keep an eye on your bag," Ronan warns. "Pickpockets around here are damn good."

"I imagine so."

I slurp down a bit of the ice cream, then sigh. "I…I never…seas, Ronan, this place looks like what I saw of District 12. I had no _idea_ there was a place like this here. How? We're supposed to be one of the best districts!"

"Well, where there are people with money, there must be those without," he reasons. "Everywhere has its underbelly. I imagine even District 1 has a slum."

"If the Capitol does I've never seen it."

"Ask Sol."

"I might… Ha. It's probably as nice as Victor's Village," I joke.

He chuckles, "Probably."

"Still. I wish I could do more, but…"

"You can't protect everyone, Dylan."

I flinch. _Not even the ones I love._ "I know."

Ronan puts his arm around my shoulders and we walk like that for the rest of the way back. Ronan and I have finished our ice cream by then, but his family seems to be savoring every bite and are just over halfway done. They don't get ice cream often, or probably anything really sweet for that matter.

_I can't help everybody,_ I think. _But I can help them_. I am not above buying someone's love. And if bringing them sweets and delicacies is what it takes to get them to do more than tolerate me, then I'll do it. The ice cream seems to have done the trick for today at least because I'm asked to stay for dinner. Whether or not Bree is being nice or trying to pay me back for everything, I don't know. I don't really care, either. Sometimes I wish I didn't always analyze motives. It'd be nice to just take a gift at face value.

"We have to be back at the edge for the fare car at seven," Ronan warns.

"We'll eat before then, don't worry."

Before going to fix dinner, Bree asks to see Ronan's arm. Ronan stiffens at the request, his eyes going wide with the same fear I'd seen earlier. I automatically reach over and put my hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be scared," I say. "Remember what Ursa told you."

He nods, swallowing, and carefully unwraps the bandage from his arm. I resist the urge to help him, telling myself that he will have to learn to do these things alone. The whole room seems to hold its breath as the last of the bandage falls away and the horrid stitches become visible. No one says anything. No one moves. They stare at his arm, he stares at them, and I stare at all of them.

Then Bree swallows noisily and Sera bursts into tears. It's shocking because Bree is the crier in the family. I have never seen Sera actually _cry_. "Oh Poseidon…" she gasps then shakes her head. "I can't…" She flees from the room and I hear the door to her room slam.

Despite how horrific it is now, it was nothing compared to _s_eeing it when it happened. The layer of skin surrounding muscle, bone, nerves, spouting blood like a—

I look at Ronan's face and try to force the memory out of my head. I see it enough as it is, in my nightmares. I carefully rewrap it for him then he pulls down the sling and tucks his arm into it. He seems almost ashamed. Adrion stands up a moment later and leaves without a word. Bree remains seated in front of us, staring at her son.

"Say something," Ronan finally demands.

"I don't know what to say." Bree sounds defeated as she slowly says the words. "I really don't."

Ronan sighs, nods, and slumps back in his chair. Bree seems to struggle with something for a second, then she scoots her chair back and heads over to stove. I offer my help even though I can't really cook but she waves me off, saying I've already helped enough and I can't tell whether or not that's a good thing or a bad thing. She said those same words to me in the hospital. So now I have to wonder if I made any lasting progress today. Scooting my chair closer to his, I lean my head against his shoulder and he lifts his arm, the bad one, and slips it around my shoulders.

Once or twice I notice Bree glance our way and pause to watch us. I wonder what she thinks of me. Does she really want me with her son?

I slide my hand across his chest, checking to see if he has it on. I feel a thin line under his shirt and I smile. He does. He looks down at me questioningly and I turn my smile towards him, pulling the necklace out from under my shirt and holding up the peridot on the end for him to see. I never take it off. It's probably one of the only things he can easily get over his head now. With his free hand, he pulls the blue topaz stone from beneath his shirt as well. Similar to mine in size and shape, both on silver chains, they're the closest we'll probably ever get to wedding rings. Only someone who got a good look at both of them would be able to make the connection and we tend to hide them under our shirts, away from curious eyes, but still where we can feel them.

When the family sits down to dinner about an hour later we still have them out. The chains I got long enough to easily conceal under our clothes, but they're short enough to be visible over the table when the three of them look at us. Predictably, it's Sera who mentions them first.

"Whur d'ya git dose?" she asks through a mouthful of potato soup. She points at us with her fork.

I lift another spoonful of soup to my mouth. It's nowhere near as good as the cream of potato soup from the Capitol, but it's still not half bad, all things considering. It needs more flavoring, probably from herbs she doesn't have.

I glance at Ronan out of the corner of my eye and he smiles just a bit, winking once. Yeah, thanks.

"Capitol." I say. "Last time I was there. We get these things called credit cards while we're there and we basically have unlimited money to spend."

"More money?" Bree asks incredulously.

I nod. "Of course, in most of the districts they need all hands on deck, so it's usually victors from 1, 2, and 4 that really take advantage of it." I take another bite and a something occurs to me. "Oh, if there's ever anything you'd like from the Capitol, let me know. I'll get it next time I go."

"She usually brings me a small strawberry cake from this bakery near the Training Center. It's delicious." Ronan says, then adds wistfully, "I wish someone here knew how to make it."

"But what are those?" Sera points again.

"Birthstones," I say. "Every month has a pretty stone assigned to it—don't ask why because I've got no clue—but these are the stones of our birth months. Mine's a peridot for August and his is topaz for December."

"I didn't see them before," she frowns.

"Good. We had them under our shirts." Ronan says. "That's how we usually keep them."

"So no one can see." I add. "And if anyone did see one, they'd have to see the other to make the connection."

"Do they…mean anything?" Bree inquires.

"We're not married if that's what you're asking," Ronan mutters.

"Good."

The soup suddenly tastes flat in my mouth and I struggle to swallow it. After a moment it goes down, but I can't bring myself to eat anymore. Dropping the spoon in my bowl I push myself away from the table, grabbing my bag from the back of my chair, and walk around the table and out the back door, slamming it shut behind me. The day is beginning to cool, but this close to the ocean I can feel the warm air blowing in, along with the rancid smell of the cove. I sit down on the slanted steps and hold my knees to my chest.

So no real lasting progress, not with Adrion and Bree, at least. But it's only been a day. Did I really expect things to work out so quickly? Well, no. But I hoped. In hindsight, I probably should've asked about his family sooner, instead of assuming they knew and were just complying with our wishes to keep everything secret. Maybe then we could've met on better terms. Or maybe I should've just kept my mouth shut and not have told them it was my idea he fight Cora.

I rest my chin on my knees, watching the sky turning from orange to black as the sun slides down the sky. The back of their house faces an alley with uneven rows of houses on either side. Other than some crates and trashcans and trash on the ground, the rocky dirt road is empty. Up the way, a door opens and a young girl jumps down onto the ground, disregarding the rickety-looking stairs entirely. She can't be any older than fifteen. Her clothes are pretty clean considering where she lives, but she's barefoot. Though that could just be because she didn't want to put on shoes, but the possibility is there.

She scurries across the road, leaping nimbly to avoid the various items on the ground, towards the nearest metal trash can and lifts the lid, depositing the contents of the bag in, then pulls back out. It strikes me as odd that she doesn't dump the entire bag. What's the point of dumping your trash into a bag if you're not going to throw the bag away? It can't smell too pleasant. Why not just dump your trash in a pail?

But my day here has already made me reevaluate things. Perhaps they use that bag because they don't have a spare bucket, as awful as it seems. I think the bag is burlap, so it's sturdy if nothing else, but not usually a bag used to line a trash can. So maybe they _don't_ have one. Part of me wants to ask her, but I wouldn't like it if some random person approached me and asked why I didn't dump the sack with the trash and why I was even using a sack like that to begin with.

Completely oblivious to my gaze, she replaces the lid. She does her little nimble run across the street again, clears the steps in one bound, and shuts the door behind her.

The door opens and shuts behind me. I turn my head just enough to see Ronan's shoes, then I look away.

"I mean, it's not like we really ever talked about getting married." I say. "We've been busy training you and, well, it wouldn't have been beneficial to either of us to discuss something like that when you could've very well have been dead in the next year. At least, now we know what they think of me."

"She didn't mean it like that," he says. "She was just glad we hadn't already tied the knot without telling them."

"Oh," I look at the door, feeling suddenly mortified. "Uh. Oops?"

"No, I thought so, too." He prods my lower back with his foot. "She wants to apologize to you."

"Then she can come out here." I say resolutely and turn from the door, lifting my nose into the air.

He sighs, "Brat." I hear the wood creak as he turns, and the door opening. "Mom," he calls. I fix my eyes on the door the girl disappeared into. A moment later I hear footsteps then the wood shifts and creaks as Bree joins us on the steps.

"We don't have long," Ronan says to us. "I'll just give you guys a sec…" A couple creaks and a click later, we're alone.

I look at Bree and arch one eyebrow.

"I'm sorry you misunderstood me," she says.

I exhale loudly, slapping the step with my hands, and push myself up.

"That came out wrong. I meant: I'm sorry I wasn't clear before. I am glad you are not married simply because I did not like the thought of missing my own son's wedding, not because I don't approve of you."

"But you don't approve of me, do you?" I ask, staring at the girl's door again.

Bree Flit is silent for a moment and I close my eyes, exhaling through my nose.

"Can you really blame me? I don't know you very well and from I have seen you are mean, cruelly shrewd, and tenacious. And that is not including observations I have based on your Hunger Games. I don't have them memorized, but I do remember what you did to the child from 10."

"I do, too. Vividly."

"Only a monster could do something that horrific to anyone, especially a child. I don't care what anyone says: you _shamed_ yourself and the entire district when you did that." She says harshly. "It wasn't surprising to me when you won the Games since no decent person ever does."

I kinda want to hit her, but it's the absolute truth and I've told myself the exact words coming out of her mouth a thousand times.

"But then," she says softly, "I also remember your friendliness towards that other boy."

"Garret," I say, clenching my fists.

"Yes, I think of that, and I can remember you have some decency in you. But there's also the issue of your money. I'm from a rich family myself so I have no right to judge you for having money, but you have more to your name than my family ever did. You just sit on it, spending it here and there frivolously. The amount you paid today for the ice cream would take two weeks to save up for, and that's if we didn't buy anything but food. Except for when you saved my son, can you tell me one time you ever used your money for anything that wasn't selfish and without being prompted, because the ice cream for the children doesn't count."

"I paid for everything when they tried to save my little brother. I paid for his funeral and my sister's. I've gotten things here and there for my parents and Ronan."

"For anything not related to your family?"

"No, of course not."

"What do you mean 'of course not?'"

"Anyone who I offered to spend money on didn't want me to."

"And what about those who didn't ask?"

I turn and glower at her. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, or why it's so important to you that I be a selfless good doer, but it's not my job to walk down the street and toss money into the air for people just because I'm a victor. I'm a survivor, not a savior. Unless you don't like the thought of anyone less than that with your son, in which case, I'd like to remind you that he was to be a tribute. If this hadn't happened and Ronan had survived the Hunger Games, then he would've been just like me."

I turn away from her again and stare upwards. Bree is quiet. I watch the sky get darker and stars finally begin to appear. A few minutes later Ronan opens the door.

"We have to go." He says the words almost apologetically.

"That's fine," I say. Bree obviously has nothing more to say to me. I turn and smile at him. "We're done, anyway."

Sera pokes her head out from under Ronan's arm. "Bye Dylan," she chirps. "See you in a few weeks!"

I smile. Ronan pats her on the head then gives her a quick hug. He kneels down to hug Bree and she gives him a kiss on the cheek, squeezing him back. Then he straightens up and offers his hand to me. I take it and we descend the stairs.

"By, Mom!" he says. I don't look to see if she waved.

We head around to the front of the house and then I let Ronan lead me. It's getting dark and already I can tell the more dodgy denizens have emerged. He keeps a firm grip on my hand, leading me down the more populated streets and the ones most brightly lit by lampposts. Something about this place makes my heart beat just a little bit faster and my skin to prickle. I don't like the way some of the people look at us now. A rich girl and an injured boy: easy pickings to anyone judging on appearance.

Ronan's tense beside me. "So you've noticed," he mutters.

"That this place isn't pleasant at night? Yeah, I noticed," I reply quietly.

"I didn't expect it to get this dark so early or I would've suggested we leave an hour ago. Keep facing forward. Don't let anyone see you're feeling nervous."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, well it appears that way. You're looking around too much," he says.

"I'm trying to keep an eye on everyone."

As we're passing an alleyway between two shops, a man leans against the wall, watching us. I glare at him dangerously. He averts his gaze and, thankfully, makes no move to follow us.

"Nicely done," Ronan murmurs, the brief warning not having gone unnoticed. "Just be careful. Some people might take it as a personal challenge, even if they originally intended to leave us alone."

"Hmph, bring it on."

"That's what you'd think if someone gave you that look."

"No it—ah, er…I hate it when you're right."

He laughs once, quietly.

We're nearing the edge of town, thankfully. This place wasn't nice to begin with, but at night, it's like the arena, full to the brim with traps, obstacles, and enemies. I cannot imagine living here.

Two children on the opposite side of the road catch my eye. I've not seen any children out as we've walked. Even the dirtiest children who probably didn't have a real home are nowhere to be seen. But there are two children there now, and they're carrying a bag each that, based on the protruding shapes, carry food. If I wanted to target someone, I'd pick them. Their parents must be insane to let them out after dark. And it seems I am not alone in that thinking.

The moment they enter an area unlit by lamps, a figure detaches itself from the shadow of a shop doorway and blocks off their path. The kids notice and immediately start to back away, only to have their escape route cut off by another figure that materializes from the mouth of an alley.

Oh no. Uh uh. Not happening.

I turn midstride and try to step into the street, but Ronan's grip tightens firmly on me. "_Don't_."

"Ronan, they're kids. And there's only two."

"There may be more of them somewhere or people nearby who'd jump in on their side just because of what we look like," he says. "Just keep going. They probably won't hurt them. All they want is the food. They won't take the kids, a kid is nothing more than another mouth to feed."

"You don't know that!"

"Dylan, please, don't—"

I jerk my hand free. "You can help me or you can sit over here. Your choice."

He sighs, gritting his teeth. "I don't have a weapon."

"Then it's time to use those hand-to-hand skills we taught you."

"I _can't _fight anymore," he protests, waving his stump.

One of the children squeaks in alarm and I grit my teeth, the instinct to _protect_ rising up within me. "Ursa already showed you that you could if you had to. Now come _on_."

I dart across the street, pulling the knife from my belt. It seems that the two men are trying to convince the children to hand over their bags, but the younglings are holding tightly to them, shaking their heads, trying to seem brave. I don't see any weapons, but that doesn't mean anything. Too intent on their victims, the would-be thieves don't realize I'm coming until I'm right there. The one facing my way must see me move in his peripheral vision because he looks up.

"Watch out—!" he warns his friend who spins around at the same time I lash out. The blade slashes across his face. The force and shock causes him to stumble back, nearly crashing into the children. The taller one—I can see she is a girl now—grabs the smaller child by the hand and hauls him out of the way just as the man steps into the space they just occupied.

The man screams wordlessly.

"Get out of here!" I warn. "And don't you come near them again!"

"You wench!" the other man charges towards me. I drop to the ground, sweeping my leg and kick his legs out from underneath him. Unprepared, he goes down but the moment he hits, he pushes himself up into a fighting stance. I freeze for half a second and my eyes widen. He must be one of our rejects. In the dim light, he doesn't look that much older than me so we probably trained near each other at one point.

He lunges. I duck under his arm and slash the knife at his side, spinning out of the way. He swears, but that little scratch wasn't enough to deter him. He lunges, missing the knife when I try to slash him again, and punches me in the stomach. I cough, winded, and flip the knife into a throwing position and let it fly. With the reflexes only someone trained to fight can have, he brings his arms up to protect his head, and the blade sinks into his arm.

Good news, I'd got him good, probably pierced the bone. Bad news, I'd just lost my weapon. He recovers some of his wits and, knowing I had nothing to keep him at bay, lunges at me again and a kick to stomach and sends me into the wall. I catch myself on the wall with my hands before my face can smash into shoots up my arms, but I don't think anything is broken. Pushing off the wall, I spin around, but the man already has the knife out of his arm and in his hand. I swallow and back away from him, hitting the wall almost immediately. But now I can feel it there against my chest, the other holster I'd strapped on this morning.

A quick glance shows that the two kids have ducked behind a crate and Ronan's almost finished with the other guy, his fist making a mess of the guy's face, but he's in no position to help me. I roll my shoulders, feeling the holster's strap. Now I just have to get my hand under my shirt to get it before he can stab me.

"Not so tough now, are ya?" The man asks in a gruff voice.

"I like how you think you've got a chance, even with that knife." I say, trying to sound brave, while lifting my left hand to the collar of my shirt. "You have no idea who you're up against."

"Ooh, feisty," he laughs, "and skilled. Let me guess, you spent some time in the Trials, too? Well, let me give you a lesson then. Just because you know how to use a knife doesn't make you a hero."

"No, but it made me a victor."

The man pauses. "Say what now?" he asks, his voice free of the gruffness he probably was using to try and intimidate me.

Ronan appears out of nowhere and punches him in the jaw, successfully taking his attention off me. He rounds on my boyfriend and I lunge at him. He goes down but he's still got the knife in his hand. I pounce, pinning his other arm beneath my legs, and pull the knife from beneath my shirt. At the same time, Ronan brings his foot down on the man's wrist and his hand releases the knife. Ronan retrieves it and leaves his foot in place. I yank his head up by his greasy hair, pressing the blade against his throat.

I lean down so my face is near his ear and whisper, "Here's what's going to happen: I'm going to let you go, and then you and your buddy are going to leave us and these kids alone, or I will fill the holes in the street with your blood."

"Screw ya, wench," he spits.

I slowly drag the blade across his throat, not hard to break the skin, but enough that he can feel it.

"Is that clear?"

He says nothing.

I apply a bit more pressure to the knife and now a small line of red trails after it. "Is that clear?"

His Adam's apple bobs and he nods once.

Ronan whistles and I throw him an annoyed look. "Really?"

He grins at me.

I pull the knife away then smash the man's face into the ground and I hear a satisfying crunch_._ "Glad to see you're reasonable." Then I release him and spring up quickly

The slowly gets to his feet and gives me an ugly look. Or, maybe it's just his face that's ugly with his nose bent to the side like that. He looks like he's ready to attack me again so I flip the knife into a throwing position. He recognizes the stance and he takes off after his accomplice. We watch him go then Ronan hands me the knife back.

"Alright, that was fun, I'll admit." Ronan says, rubbing his knuckles against his arm. "Are you alright?"

"Probably going to have a bruise on my stomach, but I've had worse," I say, then turn to the children.

"Are you—"I start to ask but they flinch away from me, whimpering. I glance at the knives in my hands and tuck them away in their respective holsters quickly, then kneel down. "Hey, it's okay now. They're not going to hurt you and neither am I."

The girl and boy glance at each other. Pressing her lips together, the girl quietly says, "Thank you."

I smile. "Do you live very far from here?"

They shake their heads.

"Why are you out on your own so late?" I ask.

They glance at each other again, then the girl says, "We had to get food. Mommy's sick."

"And your father?" They say nothing so I don't press it. "Come on, we'll walk you home so they don't come back. No one will hurt you as long as I'm here, I promise."

The girl nods. "Okay."

I straighten up and I feel Ronan's hand on my shoulder. I smile at him. When I look at the kids again they've got their bags picked back up. We walk beside them towards their home. I can see them stealing glances at us out of the corners of their eyes. I know when Ronan's arm is noticed because the little boy's eyes widen and I hear a quiet gasp. He tugs on his sister's sleeve and points at it and then she gasps as well.

"Yeah, I know." Ronan says. "Freaky, right?"

They really didn't live far, just two blocks from where we'd saved them. The girl points to a small house with a light on in a window.

"Your home?"

She nods. "Thank you."

"Here," I say, digging into my bag. I pull out the remaining money—it's not much to me, but it's probably ten times the amount they spent on food tonight—and, grabbing the girl's hand, I press it into her palm. "Get care for your mother."

The girl's eyes bug out of her head when she sees the gift I've given her. "Th-thank you…I…"

"Who are you?" The boy blurts, speaking for the first time.

I smile. "Don't worry about that. Now go on, get inside."

The girl clenches her fist tightly around the money then places it over her heart. She gives me another smile and then runs towards her house with her brother right behind her. I wait until they're both in the door before I tug on Ronan's hand.

Walking the rest of the way isn't as nerve-wracking as it had been before. It feels like winning that fight has given us a new type of power, though in the back of my mind I am well aware nothing has changed except that we may have made a few enemies. Whatever, I don't care. I have no plans of ever being here after dark again. We don't speak again until we're out of the town.

"Okay, I can see why you don't like it there." I say.

"It's not that I don't _like_ it, it's just…" he trails off. "It's not that bad during the day and when you've grown up around that it's not as horrifying. Though, for someone who grew up in Crest and lives in the Village it must have been truly traumatizing."

I shoot him a look. "Just like you were in awe of Victor's Village the first time you saw it."

"Touché."

On the way back to the stable road where the fare car will pick us up I observe the land around the district's slum. District 4 is very large, stretching for miles along the coastlines, and has a very diverse terrain. We never get snow and it never really gets cold here, except for the rare occurrence in the northernmost areas of the district, near the fence. That's why we have types of vegetation you don't see anywhere else, specifically in the southwestern half and along most of the costal regions. Palm trees and mangrove trees are quite common there, along with many other trees and plants with large leaves. Further inland there were different kinds of trees in some places, and in others there were fields and grass. Scattered all across the district are wetlands, just like in my arena, but there are plenty of dry areas too. In the north, there are trees. In the south, there are the beginnings of deserts, like in the Landscape.

Gull Cove is a costal town and they probably did have a lot of trees a long time ago, but now they're all gone—probably cut down for their wood—save for a few mangrove trees here and there. The rest of the land is open, grassy, with trees in the distance.

I wonder how it must have been like for Ronan when he moved from this open place to the training center. The building itself is surrounded by a wall and the Village and the Center are in two separate clearings in an even larger forest. We're almost hidden away in there.

The fare car waits for us at the edge of the good road, about half way to the trees, four miles from the Cove.

The driver smiles, waving his hand out the window in greeting. We wave back, walking faster. Sliding in the car, we put on the worn out belts and he starts the car, making a sharp turn.

When we're about halfway home, I realize my tiny error. "Oh, sir. Um. I don't have any more money left. But if you'll wait outside the training center, I'll go in and get what I owe you."

He nods. "Don't leave me hanging."

"I wont," I say.

"What did you spend it all on, anyway?"

"I gave most of it to this little girl we helped on the way out," I say. "She needed it more than I do."

The man looks at me out of the mirror over his head. "We need more victors like you, then."

_Try telling that to Bree Flit. _I think bitterly.

* * *

**I'm putting together a playlist for The Color of Blood :) Well, me and Kazz are. Don't think it's done yet. If anyone's interested in hearing what we've got so far, let me know.**

**Next chapter is a series of tiny one-shotty...snips...gonna be called Moments. It involves post-trauma, Dylan's parents, babies, acceptance, plus more...and a hinting of what's to come...**

**Review.**


	38. Moments

**Ah...ahahahh...um...yeah hhhiiii guys ^^; Well, aheh, I am aware that it's one day shy of being two months since I updated. Sorry about that. I've been busy with college and watching Doctor Who and Torchwood. And Wendy, meh roommate, got me onto tumblr (ITS LIKE CRAK OMG)... I've had this chapter for a bit but Clare's been busy, too.**

**Read the AN at the bottom since I know you probably want to get to reading.**

* * *

Without anymore running training to do with Ronan I don't have to be anywhere in particular until after noon. Without any training to do whatsoever, Ronan doesn't have to be anywhere until he wants, at least until those stitches are gone. With no morning commitments, we are free to do whatever we want. This includes sleeping in, a luxury I haven't had in months and he hasn't had in years. This arrangement suits us both quite nicely, even if it means missing breakfast in the cafeteria.

The sound of the shower keeps me from fully falling back to sleep. I don't shower except in the evenings, but he showers in the mornings and at night. I wouldn't have a problem with this, except sometimes he wakes up before I want to, and him leaving the bed wakes me up every single time, without fail. The shower shuts off and I listen to him moving around in there. On my stomach, face mostly pressed into the pillow, I debate on whether or not to just get up. I should get up, I really should, but my body doesn't want to move yet. Laziness wins, for the moment.

Ronan emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later wearing only a pair of shorts and picking at his arm. I prop myself up on my arms and blink at him. "What are you doing?"

"Skin's coming off," he mutters, not taking his eyes off his arm. I sit up as he sits down on the bed, leaning over to get a look. I recall the same thing happening when I hurt my arm months ago and had to leave it wrapped for a week or two.

"Oh, yeah," I say. "That happened with my arm. It's from all the stress on your skin and because your arm has been dry and wrapped for weeks. I think the whole area's gonna peel."

He makes a face, and then inhales sharply through his nose. I look down at his arm to see what alarmed him. As he was peeling a bit of skin off near the stump, more than he'd originally assumed had come loose, including a piece of skin with a stitch in it.

"Shoot," he mutters. "What do I do?"

"Uh," I peer at it. Maybe we should go find Ursa? But it doesn't appear to be bleeding. In fact, except for a tiny hole where the stitch was, it appears fine. "Wait, didn't Ursa say they'd fall out? Maybe this is what she meant."

"Didn't you have stitches on your arm?"

"Yeah, but they didn't fall out. They had to be removed. Must've been a different kind?"

He looks at his arm for a moment, considering, then he peels about half an inches worth of stitched skin away. The rest, it seemed, wasn't ready to go. He turns the dead skin around, looking at it from every angle, and I watch equally fascinated. He says it didn't hurt then sets the skin on his knee and picks at the other end. He manages to get a bit off before wincing.

"Not ready to come off," he says.

"That looks so weird," I say. He scoffs at me. "Oh shut up." I punch his shoulder.

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, whatever. Go get rid of that." I pause. "What time is it?" I add as an afterthought.

"After nine," he says. "Want to go to the Village for some food?"

I cock my head to the side, pressing my lips together and pretended to deliberate that for a moment. "Nah." I finally say, then flop down, pulling the blanket up and over my head entirely.

"All this sleeping in is going to make you lazy."

"Nag."

* * *

"Sera, how many of those have you had?" Ronan asks with narrowed eyes, holding an ice cream cone just out of her reach.

His younger sister blinks and smiles, the picture of innocence. "Only three."

"_Only_ three? Everyone else is only getting one."

"Yeah, well, everyone else is not walking around the neighborhood rounding up everyone to get free ice cream," she says. "Now give it!"

She tries to pull herself up on the side of the wagon, but Ronan only lifts the cone higher and looks at the four of us in the wagon. "Should I give it to her?"

Beril smirks. "Nah, just hold it up there and make her reach it."

"You're mean!" Sera declares for all to hear.

"No shit."

"Give it to her," Finnick says. Annie nods, not saying anything as she uses Fin's momentary distraction to sneak herself a spoonful of chocolate ice cream.

"If you don't give it to her now," I say, "she'll just sneak it later."

"Tch, fine," he says, lowering the cone so Sera can snatch it and dance out of reach before anyone can change their mind. I don't think Sera's childish personality will ever cease to impress me. It takes some skills to appear that innocent and be that happy anywhere, never mind Gull Cove.

I laugh once then turn my attention back to the young dark-haired woman waiting below me. "So, which flavor would you like? We have chocolate, strawberry, mint with chocolate chips, chocolate with brownies, vanilla ice cream with cookie dough in it, a mixture of raspberry, orange, and lime, or just plain old vanilla?"

She looks flabbergasted, probably not having many references for flavors. "That fruity mixture one sounds good," she finally decides.

"It's called sherbet," I say, already scooping some of the pink, orange, and green ice cream. I pack and cram as much as I can into the cone then plop two scoops on top, handing it to her with a smile. Her eyes are practically popping out of her head as she takes it from me. I wait, in no hurry, as she tentatively tastes it.

Most of the people today have never had ice cream before. They'd all heard of it, but had never had enough to waste on some. Those brave enough to approach us have been given the same thing: two scoops of whatever flavor they want, or one scoop of two flavors. Sweets are such a trivial thing to me that I'd never considered what it would mean to the people here.

The next person up is a little boy who, when he speaks, is shown to be missing his two front teeth. He chooses the chocolate with brownies in it. Then comes a boy who looks so much like the little one that he must be his brother and he gets the very same thing. Sera, meanwhile, is on the sidelines trying to convince the less trustworthy that, yes, the ice cream is free and no, we did not poison it. Some of them decide to trust others, others don't. That's fine because we'll be doing this again eventually. Maybe they'll trust us then.

The others seem to actually be enjoying this. Ronan is using this as an opportunity to practice using his arm for tasks his hand would've done. Annie has been relatively present the whole time, smiling and laughing more than she has in a long time. Finnick is just enjoying being with a happy, clear-headed Annie. Beril, who tagged along out of boredom, even seems to be more than just entertained by this. When she's not being mean or sarcastic, Beril Farren actually has a nice smile.

It's been twelve years since she won the 60th Games when she was seventeen. I've seen footage of her Games here and there, and some footage of the post-ceremonies. I saw that smile there, a smile from the past. I haven't seen it since. And I don't think anyone else has, either. Until today. What happened to her, I wonder? What stole that smile?

"What are you staring at?" Beril snaps, noticing me.

I shake my head quickly. "It's nothing…I…" I exhale slowly and the corner of my lip twitches up. "You have a nice smile."

Beril stares at me for a moment, then lifts a spoonful of ice cream to her mouth and turns back to her line of waiting customers.

* * *

"Mother?" I call into the house. "Mom? Dad? You here?"

"In the sitting room!" Her voice echoes down the hall.

I pull my head out of the doorway and look at Ronan. "You ready?"

"Do you think they'll like me?" he asks for fifty-forth time, just as nervous as I was. My parents and I aren't exactly as close as we used to be. I think the fact I murdered children has something to do with it. But they had a right to know.

"A lot more than they would've if you'd been a victor."

He exhales loudly. "Great."

I take his hand and pull him into the house. "Just be nice, don't insult the house, or make her feel bad because she doesn't work charity in Gull Cove."

I glance back to see him staring at the house with wide-eyed wonder and I have to laugh. He's never been in a Victor house before. He'd never had a reason or right. Well, that's changing today.

Quick, light footsteps sound in the hall above and a moment later Annie is flying down the stairs, her dark hair streaming out behind her. "Hi, Dylan!" she says cheerfully. She's alert, I can tell from her expression. She's becoming more and more stable these days. Who knows? Maybe soon she won't need my parents to watch over her. Though I doubt she'd kick them out—they really had nowhere else to go and she'd told me once that she viewed them as her second mom and dad.

She stops halfway down and her expression almost instantly slips from glee to surprise when she spots Ronan. "Oh. Um. I'll just…wait til later. Good luck with that." And as quickly as she came, Annie retreats right back up the stairs. Her footsteps stop and a door closes on the second floor. The house is silent for a moment.

"Well, she's doing a _lot_ better," Ronan says, surprised.

I nod happily and lead him down the hallways to the sitting room. He stops just out of sight while I step into the doorway. Both of my parents are in there on the couch together. Mother is working on something small, a shirt I think, while Dad's appears to be filling out paperwork. It's his day off, that's why I chose to come today so we didn't have to break the news twice. But my eyes are drawn back to the small shirt with a sense of familiarity. Mom's a seamstress. When we were younger and money was tight, she'd often make us new clothes if we needed them. What she's working on now is…infant sized but no one in the house needs a shirt that small. At least…no one living here now!

"Oh Poseidon are you _pregnant_?!" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Mother's eyes widen and she looks up in surprise. "What? Oh! No, no, I'm not. Oh seas, of course not. I'm too old for that. This is for Sora."

"Luke's wife?"

"She's pregnant."

I put my hands over my mouth. "Are you serious?"

She nods, her eyes shining. Dad's smiling, too. "Finally!" she says. "I thought I was never going to be a grandmother."

That hurts a bit since it's mostly my fault she might've never been a grandmother. I lost my ability to have kids and I got my little brother and sister killed.

"And I'll be an aunt," I say, bemused at the prospect.

"You weren't at their wedding," Dad reminds me.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't invited," I mutter.

Mother finishes a stitch then sets the work in progress in her box of supplies on the floor and stands up. "So, what do we owe this visit?" Her voice is a bit more reserved now, no doubt remembering the last time all three of us were alone.

"You…might wanna sit back down." I advise, rubbing my arm nervously.

"Uh oh," Dad says, setting his work on the table. "Famous last words. What did you do?"

"I love how you assume that I did something bad." I fold my arms.

"You told her to sit down. Can't be good," he says and, of course, Mother says standing.

Mother narrows her eyes, studying me critically. "_You're _not pregnant, are you?"

"Mom!" I say exasperatedly and glance at Ronan, still out of sight, whose face is a mix of amusement and shock.

"It's a valid question."

"No, no it's not," I say through my teeth.

"Well, actually," Ronan mutters.

I turn my head and glare at him before he can go anywhere with that train of thought. "You be quiet."

"Who's out there?" Dad demands, rising. "Annie?"

I sigh, shooting Ronan a look. This was not how I wanted to introduce him. But I should've figured things wouldn't go smooth. It never does. I reach out, grabbing his hand, and pull him into the doorway. "And for that, you don't get a dramatic entrance," I tell him.

He makes a noise of protest, quickly hiding his right arm from view, but recovers quickly and straightens respectfully. I watch my parents carefully, gauging their reactions. They're surprised for sure, but not angry or hostile or anything bad like I'd half expected.

"Hello," Ronan says and though I can feel the tension in his body, he sounds calm and confident.

"This is Ronan," I say. "He's…um…"

"The one who lost his hand, right?" Mother says. "Finnick told us about you so we wouldn't panic when a huge chunk of the money disappeared."

Ronan's face falls just a bit and he pulls his arm out from behind his back and waves with it.

"What else did he tell you?" I ask.

"Just that you were one of his instructors," she says.

She really doesn't know. I can tell when my Mother lies to me, and she's not right now. Damn, Fin is good. That or she really hasn't considered the possibility of me ending up with someone. Or at least someone like Ronan.

"Yeah, I was," I say. "He's out of the program now but he, uh, still lives there. We're helping him cope and I wanted you to meet him since he's, um, my roommate."

My parents stare, completely dumbfounded, and though Mother opens and closes her mouth a few times, neither of them actually says anything. Annie is silent upstairs, but I wouldn't be surprised if she was listening, waiting for the explosion. The silence is beginning to get uncomfortable when Ronan breaks it with a laugh. "You're horrible at this."

I frown at him. "Hey, _you_ weren't exactly tactful with your parents."

"I was drugged," he protests. "I had no grasp of reality!"

"Excuses."

My Dad clears his throat loudly. His arms are folded and he's wearing an expectant expression. Yeah, maybe the best time for playful banter.

"So, yeah, this is Ronan Flit. He's my boyfriend." I announce before I can screw it up anymore.

Mother breaks the silence that follows. "_You_ have a boyfriend?"

"I'm making an effort not to be insulted," I mutter.

"No, I mean, it's just that…you…" she shakes her head quickly, and smiles at Ronan as she walks towards us. "Ronan Flit, right? It's nice to meet you. I'm Jennifer Syle." She holds out her right hand to shake and he grins cheekily, holding out his right arm.

"Nice to meet you," he says and she very nearly grasps the end of his arm before she realizes her mistake.

"Ah, sorry!" she says and they switch to their left hands.

He smiles reassuringly. "It's alright. You'll get used to it."

"Yes, I suppose I will, won't I?" she murmurs almost incredulously, looking between the two of us. She lets go of his hand and he slides it into mine. She stares at the two of us for a moment longer then abruptly tears well up in her eyes and she puts her hands over her mouth. "Oh seas, I'm so happy for you. You don't know how long I've hoped that...and now here you are."

* * *

"Why is this so important to you?" Zal demands.

"Zal."

"C'mon man. I wanna know why."

"Just shoot, damn you."

Zal sighs. "No, I mean it. If I'm going to start shooting you, I'd better have a reason."

"Zal," I snap. "Shut up and shoot! Or I'll do it."

"Yeah, why aren't you doing it anyway?" Zal demands, gesturing at me with his bow. "Last time I checked, you were a damn good archer yourself."

I glare at him. "I don't exactly want to shoot at my boyfriend. And if you make me, you will regret it, I promise."

"I don't like the idea of shooting at my friend, either. So _why_?"

Ronan heaves a sigh, looking annoyed, and folds his arms. Zal turns to me and I say nothing. He looks between us, receiving no answer from either end, and finally sighs. "Aren't there any others who can do it?"

"Probably, but you need the practice, and they don't," I snap. "Now shut up and start shooting or it will be considered disobeying the direct order of your instructor."

Zal grumbles mutinously but knocks an arrow and points it at my boyfriend. Ronan shifts into position immediately, the single sword held out in front of him. His other arm is horizontal I front of his stomach, where it would have been if it held sword. A fighting stance can be a difficult thing to alter, especially if you've been using it for years.

"Are you ready, Ronan?"

"Are you?"

Zal exhales through his nose, holds his position for a moment, then fires. Ronan brings the sword up and intercepts the arrow. This is the fifth day, the fifth person we've snagged during their free time to face him. I don't know why he insists on doing this. Why he wants to fight an expert with every type of weapon we have. Just to prove he can, maybe. Or, maybe to prove he _still_ can. I just don't understand why he has to do that. He's never going to have a reason to fight again. The Games are beyond his reach now, and Panem has no outside enemies so there aren't going to be any wars any time soon. The only fighting he has to look forward to are any disagreements we may get into. Even then, I can't see myself drawing a knife on him.

With Zal, all he has to do is block and dodge arrows until his quiver is empty, then move in on him. Won't take too long at the rate Zal is going. Zal has a bad habit of burning through his arrows rather quickly sometimes. I'll have to talk to him about that later. Burning through my arrows in my fight against Sawyer nearly got me killed.

No, not long at all before Zal is left with only his quiver to defend himself as he scrambles to get to an arrow Ronan didn't ruin. He tries to skitter around Ronan to reach the nearest arrow, swinging at him with his bow in a poor attempt to keep him back. Ronan zips towards him, looping his arm through the bow and bending his elbow to keep it trapped while bringing the sword down onto Zal's back with the flat size of the blade.

Zal laughs. "I don't know why they even brought me back. You could probably win the Games with only one hand."

"Don't even think about it," I warn.

Except Ronan doesn't seem to be in a joking mood. He looks down at his friend in disgust. "Maybe I could, if all of the tributes would be as easy as you. …I should've fought someone else. You were hardly worth the effort."

"Hey, what the hell is your problem, man?" Zal demands, standing up. "I didn't have to do this."

"I know. And you either put up a half-assed effort just now or you actually tried, in which case you're totally fucked when you get in the arena. Either way, hardly worth the effort. …Or," he adds softly after a moment, "You went easy on me."

Zal frowns at him, silent and guilty.

"Well, which is it?" When he receives no answer, Ronan laughs bitterly. "Yeah, I thought so. Thanks for your help, _buddy_." He shoulders past Zal and heads for the door.

"Ronan," I say softly, reaching for him, but he barely even glances my way as he walks past. "Ronan!" I say a little louder.

He shoves the door open with his shoulder then kicks it shut behind it. The loud bang resonates through the gym and I flinch with it. Painful silence follows, broken only by my sigh.

"Oh yeah, he's a keeper." Zal says sarcastically.

"Zal!" I round on him. He watches me apprehensively, then snaps to attention. That makes me sigh again, my shoulders drooping under the weight of everything. "Clean this up…then go back to your dorm. You're not in trouble, just…just… just do it."

"Yes ma'am," he says.

I nod and exit the gym, heading for my room. Zal went easy on him. He went _easy_. And it was obvious, looking back on it. Zal isn't normally that careless. So that makes me wonder how many others went easy on Ronan, but just weren't as obvious. And I'll bet my own hand that he's wondering that, too. Which begs the question: can he really fight with only one hand…or did they just want him to think that he could so that he'd feel better?

* * *

It's cold. For as long as I can remember, it's never been this cold in District 4. They say back in the old days, before the war, this region had a variety of seasons, but nowadays it's warm almost year round, except up North. It was the normal warm a few weeks ago, and then without warning, _cold_. The northernmost areas of the District actually have snow. Here, in the middle, we're not getting snow, but it's still damn cold. The fur coat I brought home from the Capitol a few years ago is finally getting use.

The fishing industry is slowing at the moment, barely making quota. Some of the older sailors are apparently being superstitious fish, refusing to go out with the weather so bizarre. All the work is on the younger generations. The younger trainees who commute between the training complex and home have, for the most part, stopped coming. Which is fine because if they can't handle a little cold then no way do we want them representing us in the arena.

Not that I blame them, though, because damn it's cold and I don't like cold. Most of the district doesn't since we've all grown up in one of the warmest places in Panem. But there's a difference between not liking it and not being able to tolerate it.

A few hundred people across the District have taken up making hats, scarves, and gloves for cheap, my mother being one of them. Some knit, some sew; some with yarn, some with cloth, or with fur. Mom practically gives them away. She took it as a personal challenge to knit something for the stump on the end of Ronan's arm. Something that wouldn't slide right off or have finger holes to get in the way. It took her a few days but she finally called us over to see what she'd come up with.

"Now, I had to chop one of those old dresses in the closet from the Capitol," she says as she ushers us down the hall.

"Which one?"

"The yellow one with blue satin sash."

"Never really liked that one."

"Good," she says. "Because it was one of the only ones with some elastic in it and that's what I needed to get the glove to stay."

Mother heads into the living room while we get out of our coats. Ronan can do it on his own now, using his shoulders and his teeth when he needs more than his hand. He only struggles a bit, but I don't reach to help him. He doesn't want me to, he told me that. He manages, hangs it up, and turns to grin at me triumphantly. I kiss his forehead and pull him into the living room where I can smell and hear a fire going.

A bright flash of reddish orange draws my eyes to the couch. Finnick and Annie are cuddled up together on the couch, watching the fire, lost in their own little world. The light I saw was Finnick's hair, glowing a vibrant bronze in the firelight. Mine must be like the fire itself. I like fire. It can mean life or death in the arena…or anywhere, actually. I can feel its warmth from here and I inhale the scent of burning wood.

"Alright, hold them up there, Ronan." Mother instructs, pulling my attention from the fire.

Ronan lifts both his arms obediently. The gloves she holds are a pretty, warm shade of brown, one of his favorite colors. She slides the first glove on to his hand pulling it around his fingers to make sure it fit properly, then she turns to the challenge. It looks like a sock. We'd tried to use a sock once or twice, but he complained about it itching and it looked weird. She carefully slides the sock-thing over the end of his arm as far as it will go, then eases her fingers out. The elastic in the end of it snaps, fixing it to his arm. He holds it up for examination, turning it this way and that, giving it a few shakes.

"Well?"

"It fits," he says. "Not sliding or anything."

"I designed it as a mitten," she explains. "Leaving out the thumbhole, of course."

"I like it," he grins. "Thanks. How much I owe you?"

She swats his arm playfully. "You and I both know any money you have comes from my daughter, and I don't charge people anyway. So don't bother."

"You should go to Gull Cove and hand out some pairs," he says seriously.

She shakes her head. "I can't do that. I can't hurt those people."

He looks at Mother like she's crazy. "_What_?"

"There's people there making some coin off these, you said so yourself," I remind him. "If she goes and hands out gloves for free or cheap, those people lose business."

Ronan scowls. "Damn. Forgot about that."

He spends the next few minutes practicing getting the mitten and glove on and off without help and I find myself looking at the quiet couple on the couch. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were asleep or just oblivious to us. Well, Annie very well might be in her bubble, but Finnick was definitely awake and aware the moment we entered the house. I was expecting some sort of quip from Finnick or a curious question from Annie, but they're both silent.

"What's wrong with them?" I ask Mother softly.

She looks at the pair of them. "They do that every evening now. I thought you and Fin were as thick as thieves—you didn't notice he hasn't been there at night?"

"I haven't been looking," I admit.

"Hmm. Busy with other things?"

I nod.

She smiles just a bit. "Annie says the fire burns the nightmares out of her head. Finnick came over the first night she did that, sat down with her, and they've been doing it every night since."

"Does it?"

"What?"

"Does it burn away her nightmares?"

"It does seem to," she admits. "Fire has many uses, but I never thought it could…burn away nightmares."

"It can't," I say, suddenly recalling something Anders said a long time ago. "But she thinks it does, so it does."

"You've lost me."

"Remember when we were kids and we'd have nightmares? You or Dad would assess our pillow, tell us we'd accidentally slept on the bad side, flip it over and tell us now that it was on the good side, we'd have no nightmares."

"I'm still not seeing the point."

"There was no bad side or good side, but you said there was, and we believed you. Because we believed the good side of the pillow would protect us from nightmares, we didn't have them. The same way Ronan keeps my nightmares away. We _think_ it works, so it does. She's convinced looking at the fire helps. So it helps."

Mother tilts her head as she considers my words. "Well, if it works, I've got no problem. We'll just have to acquire firewood more often. I'll get your father on it," she decides, patting my arm, and heads out of the room. "Hang around as long as you'd like, sweetheart."

We're getting along again, my mom and I. Ronan's presence had a big effect on that—the exact opposite my presence had on his parents. I guess they were just happy I'd found someone willing to put up with me, like Luke did. The only difference between us and Luke and Sora is she's pregnant now, and I never can be. But that's alright, I don't want to lose my child to the arena, and the likelihood of a victor's child going into the arena is high.

Finnick moves. One arm had been resting on his lap, the other around Annie, and the one on his lap now rests on the back of the couch, behind an empty space. An invitation? Or did he just move because he was uncomfortable? I take slow steps towards the couch and sit down next to Finnick. He turns his head, smiling at me. I kick off my shoes as Ronan sits down next to me, slipping his arm around my waist.

The fire dances in the alcove, heating the room, burning the memory into my mind. Curled up with my best friends and the one I love—it's nice, warm. Safe. Maybe this is why Annie likes it.

* * *

**So, yeah, just a few little scenes to show the passage of time. Totally a filler chapter, but whatever.**

******I don't know when the next chapter will be up. I'm aiming for before the new year but idk. Up next is the beginning of the final arc of this story and we'll begin to get into the events of _The Hunger Games_ and _Catching Fire_. Basically, we're going to see what sparks the fire of rebellion in District 4 - one of the happiest, richest, and calmest Districts in Panem. ********I've got some stuff written from an earlier draft of this story that I shoved aside when I decided I wanted to get into more detail about Ronan's injury, the various relationships that we've seen explored, and their life together. I just need to tweak it all and find ways to tie it in.**

******And if you didn't hear the news, I am a happy little Whovian now and my Muse kinda jumped on the Bandwagon and took off. I'm working on a DW fic that I may or may not post here. Ask me about it in your review or in a PM if you're a Whovian and you're curious :3 **

******WHIIICCHHH brings me to the final part of my note: REVIEW please. Because I am a review whore and I regret nothing.**


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